


The Fragile Tower

by one_golden_sun



Series: The King's Ransom [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pain, Rape, Rape Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-10-19 02:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 35,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17593292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_golden_sun/pseuds/one_golden_sun
Summary: If Thomas was shocked to see them outside of his door in the middle of the day, unannounced, he hid it well. “Good afternoon, brother. General Washington. Princess Peggy,” he greeted, keeping his voice even. “And what brings the King and his closest company to my humble abode on this lovely winter’s day?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to @minky_for_short and @ThatWouldBeEnough for their awesome beta skills! <3

If Thomas was shocked to see them outside of his door in the middle of the day, unannounced, he hid it well. “Good afternoon, brother. General Washington. Princess Peggy,” he greeted, keeping his voice even. “And what brings the King and his closest company to my humble abode on this lovely winter’s day?”

Something about his cadence, his manner, was off. He stood in the doorway, keeping it half cracked. His voice was steady, but his eyes were wild. 

“Thomas, brother, we must speak. It is urgent,” Lafayette implored. “Might we come in from the cold?” 

“Perhaps now is not the best time, my King, I have some business of my own to attend to. Come back in an hour or so--” He went to shut the door, but Washington caught the door from closing. 

“By order of the King, we are coming in,” he said, steady and ice cold. “Now.”

Thomas drew himself to full height, folded his hands. “Be my guest, then. Burr!” He called as the group walked in. Aaron Burr came down the hall, met them in the foyer, looKing confused.   
“Please take the King and his...envoy...to the sitting room, have the cook start tea.” Burr bowed, looKing more confused than before, but bustled away.

Lafayette knew right away something was incredibly wrong. His brother’s manor looked the same as it always does, but there was a tense, eerie silence as they were more or less shepherded into the parlor. Thomas followed, made for them to sit, but they remained standing. 

“Forgive me, Prince Thomas, we are not here for pleasantries and tea,” Washington said. Peggy seemed to be peering around the room, taKing in the furniture, the layout. Lafayette simply stared at his brother, trying to get a read on him. “We are actually here to search the premises.”

Thomas barked a laugh, one that made Peggy and Lafayette flinch. “Whatever for? Another missing piece of costume jewelry?”

“Your home was the only place we never searched the night they went missing,” Lafayette said quietly. “The general has deemed it prudent we exhaust all avenues.”

“Months later?” Thomas scoffed. “Brother, be reasonable. This is nonsense. They are not here! I am insulted by the suggestion they could be. You know in your heart one of two things has happened. They are dead or they have run away, started a new life. Searching high, low, or even here will not bring them back, brother.”

“I would feel better if we checked, Thomas,” Lafayette said softly. 

“The General knows my thoughts on this matter.” 

Lafayette looked to Washington. “Thomas has mentioned--”

“I’ll tell him,” Thomas interrupted. “That boy, that criminal. _Alexander Hamilton._ He most likely has spent the last year filling John’s head with lies. Turning him against you right under your nose. Saw the opportunity for freedom the night of the ball, and did what any caged thing would do, Laf. They ran.”

The vision broke his heart. Could what Thomas thought be true? John was never happy, but caged? Alexander did not care for him; saw him as an obstacle? 

“There were signs of a struggle,” Lafayette replied, the observation sounding feeble as it fell from his lips. 

“Easily staged. This wild goose chase has been waste of time and resources. Brother, you have been doing so much better. We have been getting our King back, the court and the people have responded in kind! But to continue to search…” He trailed off, shook his head.

“If there is nothing to hide, then our presence, our search, will mean nothing,” Peggy said simply.

Thomas’s eyes narrowed, his mouth grew tight. Washington rose, began to look around the room. He motioned to Peggy, and they left the sitting room. Thomas remained.

The brothers stared at each other in silence. A minute. Two minutes. Lafayette wanted to say something, to apologize for another indignation against a lifetime of affronts. His precious older brother, born into shame, raised in secret, always second. Since their father’s death, Lafayette had done his best to elevate Thomas to his rightful place, to love him and cherish him, to treat him as an equal, not an embarrassment. 

“Brother,” he began, stepping towards him, but Thomas held up his hand, stopped him. 

“You know I love you, right?” Thomas asked. He sounded sad, and lost, and the white hot guilt flooded Lafayette. He was about to call for the general, to leave this place, to leave his brother, the only person who might actually care for him, now that John and Alexander were gone… Leave him be, leave him in peace. 

Instead, all hell broke loose in an instant.


	2. Chapter 2

Yelling in the hallway. Shouting. The general’s voice, calling for the guard they left outside, out in the snow. Several more men burst in. Thomas bolted from the room. Lafayette drew his sword, followed, went to find the source of the commotion. 

Men everywhere. Peggy yelling. Washington stopping someone from leaving. No sign of Thomas. 

“Alexander?” Lafayette said, and he was there, he was in the doorway, coming out of a library, followed by a girl of perhaps twelve. She looked horrified. “Alexander!”

“Arrest them!” Washington roared, and there was confusion as the guards surged forward, grabbed two other men. The girl with Alexander screamed. 

“Father!” she screeched, and went to run to one of the men they were arresting. Lafayette watched the scene as if underwater. Slow motion. Alexander putting himself in front of the girl, shaKing his head no. More screaming. 

His first instinct was to rush to him, embrace him. The girl, crying hysterically, tried to follow the guard dragging out her father. Alexander held her hand, was shouting. Washington shouted as well. 

“Alexander!” Lafayette bellowed, ran to him. Pulled him into his arms, ignored everyone around them. “You are alive, you are safe, you are--”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Alexander hollered, shoved Lafayette off of him. “FOLLOW HIM. GO GO GO GO!” He pointed down the hallway where Thomas had ran off to. “HE’LL KILL HIM.”

Lafayette did as he was asked. 

He ran.

***

Thomas stood outside the shut door. He was smiling. Laughed as Lafayette approached.

A strange cold calm overcame the King. “Open the door,” he ordered firmly. “Open the door now.” Thomas continued to laugh, but he obliged, and Lafayette followed him in. 

Thomas’s bedroom. 

The smell, sickly sweet, sweat and sex. 

Everything in perfect place.

Thomas went to stand in the middle of the room. Back to the door. 

In front of a gold cage. 

“It’s over,” Thomas said softly. Back still to him. “And I do not even have a weapon to finish the job.”

He stepped aside so Lafayette could see inside the cage. 

The King screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU IN ADVANCE FOR ALL THE LOVE
> 
> If yall are kind I might post Chapter 3 this evening.


	3. Chapter 3

Lafayette rushed to the cage, everyone else, everything else forgotten. “No, no, no…” he chanted. Fell to a kneel, hands curling around the bars. 

On the floor of the golden cage lay his beloved John. Thinner than Lafayette had ever seen him, pale. Naked. Curls a tangled, wild mess. Bound at the wrists. At first sight, Lafayette was sure John was dead, but he looked a bit longer, caught the shallow rise and fall of his chest. 

Tears of shock, anger, confusion spilled from Lafayette’s eyes. He looked over his shoulder, up at Thomas who was watching the scene unfold with a look of undisguised glee on his face. 

“What did you do?” Lafayette demanded. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?”

“Helped him realize his full potential,” Thomas remarked, voice as casual as if describing the weather. “I did what you had been too weak to do all along, brother dearest.” 

At a complete loss for words, at the sights in front of him, his brother’s laughing eyes, John half dead and nude in a cage, the chaos unfolding all around them. Lafayette stood, silent. Stared at his brother, feeling suddenly empty. 

He drew his sword.

“Going to kill me, brother?” Thomas asked, snide. Laughter still in his voice. “Run me through with your sword? All for borrowing your whore?” 

Despite his eyes tightening, Lafayette said nothing. He turned away from Thomas, tried to tune out his voice. Raised the sword, and in one swift blow, destroyed the padlock holding the cage door shut. 

As Lafayette entered the cage, knelt on the floor, Thomas continued. “I think when he awakes, you will find him quite agreeable. I look forward to your thanks.” Lafayette ignored him. Gathered John into his arms as gently as possible. Behind him, more people must have entered the room, there was talKing, and voices, Thomas laughing, but Lafayette ignored it all.

John was breathing. It was shallow. There was a pulse as well; light and faint. There were far too many people in the room, and John was completely on display, naked save for the bindings at his wrists and ankles, and a leather collar. He didn’t want to look closer, felt sick as he did, but his eyes found the silver tag, stamped with a few words in stark print:

_Property of the King_

Lafayette pulled his own fur lined cloak off his shoulders, wrapped John’s frail body in it, lifted him as he stood. He had nothing to say, he did not know what else to do, other than to leave this place. 

“Your orders, your majesty?” Washington asked. Everyone so calm. Thomas still chuckling to himself. 

“I must get him somewhere warm,” Lafayette whispered. “It is too cold here for him.” 

“Yes, understood,” Washington said gently. “And the perpetrators?” 

For a moment, Lafayette almost said hang them, hang all of them, that he had no use for a trial or sentencing, because under the nebulous calm coursing through him, there was bright red rage, for anyone and everyone responsible. But then he looked away from John’s sleeping face, away from the bruises and the matted hair and the shallow breathing and the collar and saw his brother, his brother whom he loved since the day he met him when they were just small children. 

“Take them to the dungeons where they can await arraignment,” he said. Washington nodded, began to lead Thomas away. 

“Oh, my King, your mercy is boundless,” Thomas snickered. “Whatever will they charge me with, praytell? I did not realize it was a crime to fuck the royal whore. Are we not both royalty, brother? You always promised when you became King that you would share!” 

Lafayette hugged John to his chest. Already his mind was whirring. He had to get to the palace, get John to the healer’s wing, get him into a bed, get these chains off of him, get him away from this place, the cage, the collar, everything, everything--

They made an odd procession. The guards frog marching the arrested servants. Peggy, sword in hand, directing them. Washington, leading Thomas out. Lafayette bringing up the rear, John bundled up and snug against his chest. Instead of the joy he had hoped for when they were finally reunited, he felt cold, empty, sick, worried.

“Wait!” Alexander rushing forward. He had stayed behind, was with the young girl who was crying hysterically. In the commotion of finding John, the King had forgotten about Alexander all together. He ran up to Washington and Thomas, looKing frantic and harried. “Wait, stop!” he repeated. Came to a halt in front of Thomas.

“I am so sorry it has worked out this way, my darling,” Thomas said mournfully. They stared at each other a long minute, Washington looKing shocked and disgusted. Lafayette more confused than anything. The air was thick with tension. Everyone watched as Alexander leaned towards the prince, barely a breath away, as if they were about to kiss. They stared at each other, and Thomas’s lips curled into a smile. 

Alexander exhaled. 

Drew back his fist and landed a blowing punch right on Thomas’s jaw, the cracKing sound of flesh on flesh echoing through the room. 

“You can take him now,” he said calmly, as Thomas doubled over from the blow. Washington nodded, shoved him forward. Alex turned to look at the King and Peggy, who had watched the scene unfold with shock. “I had to,” he said. Went back to sling a kind arm around the crying girl, looKing ready to fight anyone who questioned him.

“Looks like he deserved it,” Peggy murmured, but Lafayette did not chime in. As Alexander and Peggy exchanged hurried introductions, his mind was only on getting John back to the palace, to safety.

Despite the fact he wore no cloak, he did not feel the cold the entire walk back through the snow.


	4. Chapter 4

The commotion when they returned to the palace was extreme. Lafayette ignored everything, carried John himself to healer’s wing. Watched as the healer laid John on the stripped bed. The room was, blessedly, private, and Lafayette witnessed the healer work. 

With the cloak gone and John laid out on the bed, completely nude, the extent of his injuries and poor health became apparent. The outline of his ribs. His collar bones. A collection of bruises on his hips, torsos, biceps. Strange oval, ghost-like shapes. Fingerprints. His hair was tangled. Wild. 

“Take off the shackles, the collar,” the King ordered, but the healer shook his head. 

“I need to examine him first, then--”

Lafayette strode forward. Carefully unlatched the wrist shackles. Gold cuffs inlaid with sapphires. His stomach churned. Ankles next. Under the shackles his wrists and ankles were bruised, chafed, raw. How long had he been wearing them? The collar last. Lafayette was so careful as he unbuckled the leather, slid the thing free. His heart breaking as he revealed a necklace of bruises, the skin rubbed raw where the collar sat. 

He stood there, holding the cuffs and collar, unsure what to do. John lay as if asleep, breathing lightly. 

“Can you tell his condition?” Lafayette asked. 

“He appears to have been sedated,” the healer said. An older man. Lafayette did not know his name, nor did he care at the moment. “He is dehydrated. Malnourished. Exhausted. He has not been outside in weeks.” Every point stabbing Lafayette in the heart. 

Thomas did this to him?

“When will he wake?” 

“It remains to be seen. Depends on how long ago he ingested the drugs. Could be as early as this evening. Could be in the morning.”

Lafayette nodded. Already had sent for a servant to bring him a chair. He would not leave, would not step out of this room until John woke. 

The door slammed open. General Washington and Alexander came in, Lafayette flinching from the loud sound. “Quiet,” he hissed. “John is sleeping.” Washington’s eyes fell on John’s lifeless form on the bed, so much pity there Lafayette wanted to shout. Witnesses made it so much worse. 

“Did you take out the plug?” Alexander demanded, the healer and Lafayette both looking puzzled. “You removed the collar and the cuffs, but the plug?” When neither answered, Alexander sighed, strode forward. Lafayette watched in half disbelief, half horror, as Alexander reached between John’s legs. While being quick but tender, he gently pulled. Buried in John’s ass there was… 

Alexander held it up. A polished plug of silver. 

“What…” started the healer, but Lafayette interrupted. 

“That was inside of him?” he asked, feeling sick. Alexander nodded.

“Shall I burn it or keep it for evidence?” he asked, sounding so casual Lafayette wanted to scream. 

“Clean it. We will store it until the trial,” Washington said. Alexander nodded, grabbed a cloth and wrapped the thing, handed it off to the healer who looked disgusted. Lafayette laid the shackles, the collar, on the side table next to the healer’s tools. 

“Why was he wearing that?” 

“You really don’t know, huh?” Alexander glared at him, moved as if to leave the room. 

“Alexander. We must speak,” Lafayette ordered. He nodded at Washington who excused himself. 

“Here? Now?” Alexander threw a look at John on the bed, the healer mixing potions at a small table. “I would hate to disturb him.”

While reluctant to leave John’s side, he motioned for Alexander to follow him to an adjoining room. He marveled at his ability to pull it together, but seeing Alexander, seeing his face, grounded him suddenly. He had to know. He had to know…

“Tell me,” he said simply. Alexander wouldn't look at him, wandered to the fireplace. Stared at the flame in the grate. “Tell me why he was wearing that plug.” 

“Your majesty, don’t be stupid,” Alexander said softly. 

“I need to hear.”

“Don’t make me say it. Please.”

“Alexander. I need to hear...all of it. What happened while you were with Thomas.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.” 

Alex turned to look at him, backlit by the fire. Any joy Lafayette might have eked from being reunited with him had dissipated in the wake of John’s condition. He practically glowed in the firelight, his face etched with equal parts rage and sorrow. “And if I don’t want to say? If I don’t want to speak on it?”

“Do not make me order you,” Lafayette whispered. “Please, Alexander, I beg--”

“You beg, huh? Sit down your majesty. Once I start, I will not stop, and you will listen to every word. The last one hundred and sixteen days have been hell for me. But for John? For John…” He looked closely at the King. “You are certain you want me to continue… You want to hear all of this?”

“Everything.”

The pause Alexander took then, pregnant with meaning, his shoulders square. He looked somehow smaller than he ever had. 

He began.

“There were times I thought John would be better off dead. I was treated by Thomas with some modicum of respect, of humanity. I was clothed, I was fed, I was given some semblance of autonomy. During the day I was in the library, and eventually spent my time tutoring one of the servant’s daughters. John, on the other hand, was treated lower than the lowest pleasure slave. Bound and collared at all times. Plugged in his ass, locked in a harness. His manhood locked up as well. Only Thomas had the keys. Thomas owned him, owned every inch. It started slow. After dinner he would lead us into the library. Make John suck his cock. Oh, did I mention he was not permitted to walk? Thomas made him crawl. A few times, he forced John to suck me, for his amusement. I slept in the bed with Thomas, John on the floor, like a dog. During the day, they kept him in a cage. He was only fed scraps. Thomas’s pleasure was his only purpose. I was the bait, the threat, the collateral. If John misbehaved or refused, Thomas would hurt me, take my food, threaten me. All to keep John pliant. He stopped fighting. He gave in. He told us you were engaged, that you ordered our execution. That he rescued us. He filled John’s head with lies and doubt. Nothing I said could counter it. He knew so much, he knew everything, exploited every fear, every insecurity. When he grew tired of it, he threatened to have John killed. Made me prove his usefulness, forced me to rape John in front of his very eyes.”

“No…” Lafayette started. “That is enough, Alexander, I understand--”

“You don’t!” Alexander shouted, and tears were streaming down his face but he wouldn’t stop. “You understand nothing! You have no clue! To be forced to hurt, to rape, to destroy the one person you love most? It rips your soul in two! And it just got worse.”

“No more, Alexander, I forbid, I have heard enough--”

“You wanted to hear all of it and you will. Even then you won’t understand! How could you ever understand? When he was ready, after weeks of breaKing us down, it was his turn. He raped John, every night, multiple times. Wore him out, used him, and when he was tired, he forced me to take a turn. You’ll never understand. You can’t. You didn’t hear him scream, him beg, him cry. You didn’t seen the fight go from his eyes. You didn’t watch Thomas feed him from his fork every night, the only food he was permitted. You didn’t have to witness that monster you call a brother transform the sweetest, kindest, gentlest person into an animal, a broken thing, a silent ghost of himself, used only for the warmth of his body then tossed aside like trash every night, and all I could do was helplessly watch as it happened, as he was broken, over and over and over…” 

Before his eyes, Alexander crumpled. As Lafayette stood stunned with this information, the painful, horrible barrage of the truth, he felt that he had to do or say something. Anything. Oh, how it hurt, all of this, but he could not face it right this second, it hurt too much, everything was too much. He could only focus on the young man in front of him. They both hurt, perhaps there could be comfort, and healing, and some sort of support...

“Alexander,” Lafayette said, went to him, tried to touch his shoulder. Quick as a flash, Alexander recoiled, stepped out of reach. 

“Don’t touch me!” Alexander shouted. “Don’t touch me.” He went to the door, glared at the King over his shoulder. “Send for me when he wakes. Until then, I do not want to see you.”

He slammed the door behind him, leaving the stunned King alone.

***

Lafayette returned to the silent, quiet room where John lay. The healer bowed and left them alone as soon as he saw the King return, the look of shock and pain all over his face. 

Someone had brought the chair he requested, a straight back wooden thing, something flimsy and uncomfortable. Something Lafayette had never sat in all his life. He did not care; in this moment, after hearing the torment Thomas put his beloved John through, how he managed to design specific, targeted tortures for both John and Alexander, comfort was not something he deserved. He would sit in hard, unforgiving furniture for the rest of his days, eschew every luxury, every creature comfort, if it meant Alexander and John could be relieved of even an iota of the pain they were put through. 

Of course, no such thing were possible. There were no deals with trickster gods or witches. This was real. This was not a nightmare Lafayette was waiting to wake up from. For the last four months, his missing lovers had actually been sequestered and tortured at the hands of his brother and best friend. When said in his mind like this, the cold hard facts, it sounded absurd. But it was true. And not kidnapped for a King’s ransom, or a political reason, as far as Lafayette could see. 

John, kept as a pleasure slave, raped nightly. 

Alexander, manipulated, forced to bear witness, instrumental in John’s torture. 

And now, instead of the happy reunion he had envisioned, after following a gallant rescue, he had lost the three people he loved best in the world in one, singular, moment. Thomas, his best friend, his older brother, revealed to be a monster behind the man he loved and admired. Alexander, not wanting his company, his touch, sickened by his very presence, fleeing from the room.

And John. Lifeless on the bed. Covered in their hand prints. Their evidence. 

The King silently vowed he would not leave the uncomfortable chair, the dark room, until John woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the support. I promise I read every comment and will respond in the next day or so. Stuff has been crazy on my end! Expect chapter 5 sometime on Friday. I LOVE YOU ALL THANKYOU


	5. Chapter 5

Lafayette sat up suddenly, roused from sleep. It wasn’t morning; not yet. The room was still dark, the fire burned down to nothing but embers. He had not meant to fall asleep; was shocked he managed to do such in an uncomfortable position. His first thoughts were that he was thirsty, and stiff, and exhausted, and while he wanted to do something about those three feelings, he hesitated when his eyes fell on the bed. 

_John was awake._

The King stood up so fast, the chair fell over. 

John still lay still in the bed, still as stone. His eyes were open, but glassy and staring in the firelight. 

“John?” Lafayette whispered. He leaned over him, catching his attention. His heart melting and skipping as John gazed up at him, half asleep. 

John didn’t respond, just looked up at him, confused, hazy. 

“John, my love,” Lafayette said, a little louder this time. Sat on the edge of the bed, cupped his cheek. “You are home, you are safe little one. Oh, my love, I am so sorry it took me too long to find you.”

There was a lengthy silent moment. John stared at him, as if trying to decide if he was real. Lafayette was concerned he had yet to speak, but perhaps the drugs were still maKing him lethargic. His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into Lafayette’s hand, nuzzled him with his cheek. Lafayette sighed in relief, took this as a sign to touch John further, to wrap his arm around his shoulders and hug him, hold him to his chest. 

“How do you feel, sweet thing? Can I bring you anything? The healer will need to know you are awake, and Alexander is waiting to see you as well. We have been so worried, but now that you have been returned to me, I am… I am so thankful to have you back, to see you safe.” Once Lafayette started talKing, the words came out. A dam breaKing. “Alexander has spoken to me about your ordeal, and I am here for you, no matter what, I love you, my baby, my little one-- John, what…?” 

The King looked, saw John reaching for the tie on his breeches. He looked up at him, imploringly, eyes big, lifted his hips so their bodies met. 

“John,” he said firmly, suddenly confused. As much as he had missed his love, this felt wrong. “This is not the time, I am thinKing, you are not well, you just woke up--” John had seized Lafayette’s hand by the wrist, guided it between his legs. Lafayette’s shock and confusion met a boiling point as he felt how hard John was beneath the flimsy night shirt he wore. He did not want to pull away, nor did he want to continue. “John, my love, no…”

With that, John burst into tears. 

***

John did not know where he was. When it was. It was dark. The room cold. He was in a bed. Small bed. Not Thomas’s bed. Where was Thomas, where was the prince? Where was Alexander? The room must be empty. His head hurt. Worse than his head was his whole body. Limbs like lead. Heavy. Skin buzzing. His balls ached. He wasn’t naked, and he wasn’t cuffed. His throat felt bare. He felt too light and too heavy at the same time. He stared at the dying fire, afraid to move. 

Someone said his name. He looked up. 

Oh. Oh… 

_The King was there._

John wanted so badly to say something, to say how happy he was to see The King. He knew The King was important, he had missed him, but he was not sure if he was allowed to talk and he didn’t want The King to be mad at him, he did not want to get slapped.

The King sat on the edge of the bed. The King touched his face. The King said some words, but John could barely hear them. This close to him, with his hand on his cheek, John knew just two things. He needed someone to touch him, to keep touching him, that this closeness activated the itch inside him, and there was just one way to scratch it. The other thing he knew was The King was important, he deserved pleasure, and he was supposed to give it to him, that was his purpose. 

He tried so hard to be good. Didn’t speak, stayed quiet like Thomas and Alexander taught him. When The King did not touch him quick enough, John went slow, pulled at The King’s breeches, lifted his hips, whined. When The King refused to touch him where he ached, he guided his hand there, made a pathetic little crying sound.

The King said No, John. 

John started crying, scared The King would get mad. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, he needed to be touched, he needed it. He was supposed to pleasure The King, that was what he was made to do, it was all he _wanted_ to do, but The King didn’t want him. 

“Please,” he blubbered, the first word he spoke since waKing up. 

“John. This is not right, you are not well.”

John cried harder. Rutted against The King’s side, whining wordlessly. 

“Why d-don’t you want me?” John sobbed, choKing on his own words. “Why?” 

“My little love, please calm down--”

“Where is the Prince?” John gasped. Let his hand find himself, grip himself through the night shirt. It was something. It was not enough. He needed more, he needed another man to touch him, to hold him, to fuck him, to fill him up and take him over and over. 

“John--” The King took him by the wrist, guided his hand off himself. That made sense, bad pups shouldn’t touch themselves. He was a bad boy, why else would the King not want him?

“Bring me to the Prince,” he begged. “Bring me to Alexander. They will help…”

“Help what?” The King asked. He sounded horrified, and confused. “John, you are not well, please calm down.” 

When it became clear The King was not going to help him, was not going to fuck him or bring him to the Prince or Alexander, was not going to let him touch himself, John dissolved into hysterics. Why don’t you want me? I was a good boy for you. Thomas always said I was the perfect whore, a good slut. I can be good for you too. Please, please. Is it because I’m bad? Is it because the Prince used me? You don’t want me anymore? 

The pain and the need became too much to bear. 

John turned away from the King, sobbed into the pillow. Rubbed himself against the blankets, until someone seized him by the hips, made him stop. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. 

Someone. Anyone. Just touch me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm off to NYC for the weekend with my husband for our four year anniversary so expect the next update Sunday night. <3


	6. Chapter 6

When they could not find a way to soothe John, the healer came in and gave him a calming potion, one that put him back to sleep. Feeling horrified, worried, and like a failure, the King took another close look at John sleeping on the bed, his face screwed up in frustration and pain… Like he could not even find peace in his dreams. 

After planting a quick kiss on John’s forehead, he departed the medical wing, sending a servant to find Alexander. 

He was not going for Alexander, however. 

He was headed to the dungeons. 

“Dungeons” was a misleading name for the lower floor of the palace. Despite being below ground, the halls were bright and airy. Sure, there were cells, barred in iron. But every cell had a skylight, a comfortable bed, a writing desk. The palace cells had never been designed for common criminals, and rarely used, if ever. 

Currently, only one cell in this hall was occupied. 

“Good morning, baby brother!” Thomas greeted, far too cheerful for the hour and his circumstances. Seeing the morning sunlight from the ceiling window pour into the cell lit an awful rage of fire in his heart.

_When was the last time John had seen the sun? Felt it on his face?_

Lafayette stood outside the cell, staring at his brother, the man he thought he knew better than anyone. Instead a complete stranger to him now. He took in a few deep, grounding breaths, trying to find the words, the question he needed to ask him.

_Why?_

_What have you done?_

_What did you give to John?_

“How is our pet doing, baby brother? Is he awake yet?” His eyes sparkled with laughter. 

“John is not _your_ anything,” Lafayette said through gritted teeth. Knee-jerk reaction. How dare he, how _dare_ he--

“I take it from your...reaction, our boy is awake. How did you find his demeanor? Has he asked for me yet?”

“You--”

“You don’t have to thank me, dear brother. Consider it a belated coronation gift. Or perhaps an early birthday present? Whatever you like. A gift.”

“What did you _do_?”

“I will say it again. I did what you have been too weak to do all along, Laf. I helped your whore realize his full potential, his true purpose. I trained him for you!” He had left where he was sitting on the bed, came to the bars of the cell. His wolfish grin glinted in the sunlight. “You are _most_ welcome.” 

“Thomas, Alexander told me everything. How you abused him, you raped him! You...you put metal inside of him, kept him locked up, and now...now… He is awake, and he is in torment…” Lafayette’s voice cracked, his hands clenched in fists, shaking… Saying it aloud, hearing the truth in his own voice. As the accusations fell like rain, Thomas just continued to smile.

“Are you finding him agreeable, then? If he is too much for you to handle, I am well inclined to the task, as experience has proven. Have the servants bring him down here, I will give the poor thing what he is so desperately craving.”

“You are mad…”

“Mad, am I?” Thomas laughed. “If not me, give him to anyone. He needs it, you are doing him a disservice by denying him. Hell, in this state, he would probably let the whole royal guard, the whole army, have a go. One right after the other, and it still would not be enough--”

“I order you to be silent--”

But Thomas just continued. “Bring him to me, brother, and I will at least be kind. You can trust me.”

“Do you honestly think I will bring him to you?” Lafayette hissed, stepping closer to the bars of the cell, his eyes tightening, the rage blooming. No longer just a fire inside him, an entire inferno. A whole burning sun. “As long as I am alive, you will never be permitted to see, to touch John again, you absolute…” He could not think of a name to even call him. Snake, monster, demon, devil…

Brother. 

But his rage did not seem to affect Thomas. If anything he appeared calm and gleeful. 

“I think you _should_ bring him to me. Not for my sake, but for his. Surely, he is in pain. Needs a man, like me, to help scratch that itch.”

“I do not think you raping him is what he needs, Thomas, you are sick, you are confused…”

“Rape him?” Thomas repeated, sounding actually confused. “Lafayette, my dear, you cannot rape a whore, especially one who is willing, who is begging for it! Was it rape when--”

“Stop!” 

“I held him in my arms--”

“Stop, Thomas, I--”

“And he begged me to take him--”

“I command you,”

“And slid inside his pretty, tight ass, made his eyes roll back with pleasure, watched him twitch, come apart on my dick like he had never felt something so glorious in all his life. Truly, it became clear once I felt him, really felt him, why you have been distracted all these years. His mouth, too, is a gift. A boy like him was born to suck and be fucked, you picked him well, brother. And I must say, after his copious training I have put him through, he is even better than before. So the question begs, why are you down here with me, and not upstairs, enjoying the fruits of my labor?” 

Lafayette barely heard this, the raging fire roaring in his ears as Thomas spoke. The thought, the very thought, of anyone taking John against his will, he felt sick, he felt hot with anger, and without realizing it he had drawn his sword once again, stood there shaking and silent, seeing before him not the brother he once loved, but the devil come alive…

“Going to hurt me, brother?” Thomas wheedled. “You really should take that pent up anger somewhere else. Might I suggest a lovely roll in the hay with your whore? I am telling you, it would do you wonders. Now, I must admit, I ran out of time to find all the modifications for him I had originally envisioned. For example, you will still have to use some oil for the initial penetration, as I could not quite discern how to make his organs self lubricate. And, after each orgasm he has, I did notice he has a refractory period of a few minutes? I wanted to cut that time down, but you can have some fun from that, touching the head of his little cock while he whines, is quite fun, for example…” 

“Your majesty, no!” 

Hearing Washington’s voice echo down the hall, with two sets of footsteps, broke Lafayette from his rage-induced trance. He realized he had raised his sword, as if to strike any second.

Thomas laughed, greeted the two men who rushed to Lafayette’s side. “Good morning, General Washington. Good morning, Alexander, my love. How are you today? You look gorgeous, as always. I have missed you quite a lot.”

“Shut up,” Alex hissed, placing a hand on Lafayette’s shoulder. “Not here, not now, Laf. Come, come on, let’s…” A hand on his arm, guiding him down the hall, away from Thomas. As if Alexander’s anger from earlier had dissipated, but Lafayette was too blind with rage to see. 

“He did something!” Lafayette shouted. “He did something to John, he changed him!”

“I told you, he raped him, repeatedly,” Alexander said calmly. They were in a room, with Washington leaving to give them privacy, one Lafayette assumed they used for prisoners to meet with their counsel and the like. It did not matter. 

“No, no, more than this!” Lafayette said, the tears rising to his eyes, the sob catching in his throat. “When he woke, he was like a different person.”

“John is awake and you did not call for me?” Alexander whispered. “I told you, I told you--”

“I did not have time!” Lafayette shouted. “I came down here, trying to… I could not calm him. He was crying, begging for sex! Tried to touch me, begged me to touch him, and when I refused, he asked for...asked for…” He broke down, unable to speak any further.

The color went from Alexander’s face. 

“He asked for Thomas?” he filled in, his voice reverent. Fearful. 

“Yes. Thomas and you.” Lafayette sniffled. “How would you know this, Alexander?”

“I didn’t know. I worried. I hoped it would pass.” He shut his eyes, looked sick. 

“What would pass?”

“Whatever Thomas drugged him with!” 

“But, it must have passed, he has woken up.”

Alexander flinched, looked timid. 

Guilty.

“Tell me,” Lafayette begged. “Tell me what you know.”

“I don’t know, that’s the thing.” Alexander put his fingertips to his temples. Took in a deep breath. Steeled himself. “Whatever Thomas drugged him with, did not just make him sleepy or weak. It…it… It changed him. Made him...made him aroused. All the time. And not just a normal arousal, like a bandy teenager or something. Like an animal. A cat in heat. Insatiable. Insane.” 

Lafayette’s heart hammered and his blood went cold. “Alexander, why did you not tell me this?” 

“I thought...I prayed...it would not matter, that the effects would pass when he woke.”

“You still should have told me!” Lafayette shouted, the sudden change in his volume startling Alexander. Both of them tensed. “I told you to tell me everything about that time, and you promised, you said--”

“Well forgive me, then, your highness,” Alexander sneered. “Perhaps I thought it a kindness to spare you from the mental image of your beloved John begging your brother to rape him!” 

“Or perhaps to alleviate your own guilt from not being able to protect him better?” Lafayette snapped back. “Or the fact that you took part it in it?!”

Something vital, something crucial broke between Alexander and Lafayette in that moment. There are some words that can never be taken back, some sentiments that cannot be unsaid or unheard. 

“You think I had a choice?” Alexander said slowly. “You think I didn’t do the best I could?” 

“What I think is no longer important, Alexander. What is important is how we fix this, which we cannot if you do not tell me the whole truth when I ask you to.”

Alexander gritted his teeth. “Well, then. The truth is since Thomas drugged John a few weeks ago, he’s been like a madman, going out of his mind with lust. Begging any man who crosses his path to fuck him. Thomas, me, the servants, it did not matter. And to keep both of us alive, I did as I was ordered.”

“How many times?”

“Countless.” 

Lafayette realized he was shaking. What would happen next time John woke up? Would this be the rest of his life? Begging for sex until he was indulged or he went insane? How could his brother do this to another human being? Especially a person as kind and gentle as John? Twist his sweet and soft ways into something so dark?

“I have been honest with you, now it is your turn to be honest with me.” Alexander’s steady voice drew him back to the moment. “How did Thomas know so much?”

“How do you mean?”

“He knew… Fuck, Laf, he knew everything. He knew details about our relationship. He knew what the inner chamber looked like. He knew about your’s and John’s letters. He knew what John wore your first night together. He knew...he knew…” Alex closed his eyes, inhaled. “He knew that my relationship with you was not the same nature or depth that it is with John. He took pleasure in casting us in these roles…Of me as the adviser, the friend. Of John as the toy.”

It was Lafayette’s turn to flinch as he admitted the truth. Alexander deserved that. “I have told him everything, Alexander. Everything, as it happened, and even since you have been missing. Thomas not only is my brother, but he is-- was-- my closest friend and confidant.”

Alexander looked shocked. “He knew about us? Why didn’t...why didn’t you tell us about him?”

“He begged me not to! For years, he wanted to remain in secret. He worries about people judging him for his birth mother, for his place in the Kingdom. I respected this. Even when he helped me design the inner chamber. He has been helping me run the Kingdom in your absence, he has been comforting me, talking to me…” What felt like a knife twisted in Lafayette’s gut. All those lonely days in the inner chamber, when he told Thomas stories and memories of John and Alexander. 

He was handing him the ammunition. 

Instead of flying into another rage or breaking down, Alexander just burst into humorless laughter. “You cannot be serious. You two are close?”

“As close as two brothers could be, I suspect.”

“How...god, this is… I am at a loss, Lafayette. Anyone who hears him talk, it sounds as if the two of you hated each other! And the things he says about you! I thought he was fueled by jealousy, bitterness… But if what you say is true…”

Hearing Alexander lay it out so plainly…. That the man he loved best would betray him in such a calculated, personal, brutal way. When he spoke next, his voice was high, thin, lost. “Why? I always tried to be a good younger brother. I love my big brother. Why would he do this to me? To us?”


	7. Chapter 7

Questioning Thomas on what drug John had been given was a dead end. He gave vague, teasing answers, contradicted himself, laughed through the whole interview. Thomas did not respond to Washington or Lafayette. With Alexander, he was... troubling. 

“You know we didn’t give him anything, my love, please tell them,” Thomas said, his voice edging on what sounded like fear. Since finding John half dead in his brother’s manor, Lafayette had a shattered glass moment, where he noticed just how much Thomas _acted_. His skills were seamless. “They don’t believe me. That John, poor thing, is just naturally predisposed to such depravity. Tell them, Alexander.” 

Alex rolled his eyes, sighed. “This is going nowhere,” he told the others, and reluctantly they decided to try again later. At least John was blessedly asleep at the moment. Washington left them, headed to the next hall where Thomas’s servants were being jailed, wanted to question them. Lafayette made his way back upstairs to the medical wing, Alexander close behind. 

There was a tense silence between them as they climbed the tower stairs, the echoes of their arguments replaying in both of their heads. Lafayette was torn-- on one hand, he desperately craved some comfort, some sort of affection from Alexander, anything to alleviate the sickening press of guilt and worry on his heart. But after how he treated Alexander, how he helped set into motion Thomas’s horrible plans… He did not think he deserved it. He had to focus on John now, which, frankly, was where Alexander’s concern lay as well. 

Alexander cleared his throat. They were one flight away from John. They paused on the landing. Lafayette, expecting an apology or an olive branch, listened in rapt attention. “Do you suppose I can be sent to finish out my sentence after we find the antidote?”

“What are you meaning by this?” Lafayette asked slowly. 

“My...my sentence. By my tracking, I have seven weeks and some days left.” Alex peered up at him, almost defiant. “It no longer seems the inner chamber is an option.”

“Alexander. This is the furthest thing from my mind--”

“Lucky you.”

“--And I think we both know you have been through enough. I will vacate your sentence. It is nothing. You are free to leave here as soon as you like.”

“Like hell I’m going anywhere without John,” Alex snarled, hackles suddenly raised, making Laf’s eyes flash.

“This is his home, Alexander,” Lafayette replied stiffly. “And your’s too, if you so wish it.”

When his statement was met with telling silence, Lafayette suddenly felt cold. Did they want to leave? He could not think of this now, the only thing that mattered in this moment was helping John get better. He pushed this brewing conflict away. 

“Might I...might I embrace you?” Lafayette asked timidly. He needed something, anything. Alex stared up at him, the minute stretching. 

“You look just like him,” he said softly. He did not step into Lafayette’s waiting arms. Instead, wrapped his arms around himself. “Come, let’s go check on Jack.”

***

Before they even opened the door, something was wrong. The healer’s voice, muffled, tone edging on irritable. Some strange, muted sounds from John, wordless and desperate. 

Upset. 

When they got the door open, the healer had their back to them, was fussing with something on the table next to the bed. John was awake, but far from the semi-peaceful state Alexander and Lafayette had hoped to find. 

“What have you done?” Lafayette bellowed, Alexander frozen in shock next to him. John on the bed, had not even noticed their entrance. He was staring at the ceiling, arms spread, wrists lashed to the spindles with what looked like rags, as if done in haste. His ankles had been given the same treatment. Another rag was stuffed in his mouth. Tears leaked from his eyes as he kept his gaze fixed to the ceiling, his hair plastered to his face from sweat and exertion, his wordless cries caught by the gag. 

The healer was startled by Lafayette’s question, and whatever he was holding rattled on the table as he turned. “Good morning, your majesty,” he said breezily, picked his tool back up. 

“Who authorized this?!” Lafayette demanded, and Alexander sputtered next to him, seemed speechless at John’s condition. He looked like a caged animal as he pulled at the makeshift bonds, screamed into his gag. 

“I did, your highness. This patient was not only inappropriate with me, when I rebuffed his, ahem, advances, he grew violent, was carrying on, made it impossible for me to treat his wounds--”

“So you _added_ to it?” Alex asked, incredulous. Broke from whatever shock froze him, rushed over to the bed. 

“And you are?” the healer asked, raising a brow. Watched as Alex approached the bed, started to untie John’s left ankle. “Sir, I must ask you not interfere with my patient, he--”

The rage returned, coursed through every cell in Lafayette’s body. He joined Alexander, began loosening the tie on John’s right ankle. “Get out,” he snapped at the healer. 

“Pardon?”

“I said get out!” The knot was drawn impossibly tight, and Lafayette’s fingers trembled as he worked at it; Alexander appeared to be having just as much trouble. 

“Beg your pardon, your highness, but my patient needs my care and--”

“You tied him down!” Alexander shouted. His hands shook as well, even as he turned away from the knotted rag, glared at the healer. “You gagged him, what is wrong with you?” 

“As I stated, he was violent,” the healer explained, as if Alexander and Lafayette were stupid children. “Do not be surprised if he kicks you if you untie his leg.”

Burning with anger, trying to still himself, Lafayette drew himself to his full height, stared down at the healer. A nondescript, middle aged gentleman with a fair face and paunchy body. The highest ranked healer in the palace. “He is no longer your patient. You are relieved from this duty. All of your duties. Your employment at the palace ends today. Thank you.” 

“I’m being fired for doing my job?” 

“Thank you,” Lafayette repeated, a clear dismissal. Returned to the knot. John had grown silent, but tears still slid down his face. 

The healer attempted to argue, but Lafayette heard nothing. No words. Just Alexander muttering under his own breath as he worked at the left knot and John quietly whimpering and crying into the gag. Lafayette’s heart broke, knowing that John, or anyone would be treated like this, that none of this was going the way it should or could, and his vision went red. 

“Get out of my sight!” Turned around so quick, Alexander looked up from the knot, his mouth falling open as Lafayette’s voice went from a dangerous whisper to a shout. “Get out of this room, this palace, before I have you arrested!”

Shaking his head, the healer finally listened, exiting quickly, the door slamming behind him. Still shaking with anger, Lafayette returned to the knot. When it still would not budge, he seized a pair of scissors off the tray of tools. 

“Laf--” Alex started, but the King ignored him. Steadying himself, he snipped through the rag, freeing John’s leg. Glared at Alexander as he went from the restraint on John’s other ankle. Alex said something to him but he ignored it. John was not a wild animal, or a criminal. After months in chains, this was a cruel state. It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair, what kind of man who swears to help and heal would do such a thing? 

“Hey, Lafayette,” Alexander said softly, and the scissors were being gently pried from his grip. 

“His wrists,” Lafayette snapped, and Alexander flinched. 

“I got it,” Alex replied. “Let me do it, your hands are shaking.” 

“Of course they are, I am...furious...that imbecile would call this caring for his patient.”

Alex nodded in agreement, and Lafayette had just a moment to be impressed by how collected he appeared. Gone was the hot-headed scholar from just months ago. 

Lafayette continued. “After what he--you both--have been through how dare he, how dare he! He spent months restrained, this was beyond cruel, and I am disgusted and furious…”

With careful but swift movements, Alexander snipped John’s wrists free, set the scissors out of reach, and plucked the rag out of his mouth. “Laf, he’s been through worse. It’s awful, but this is the least of our worries.” With his limbs free, John curled up into a ball, was crying quietly to himself. 

“How can you say that?” Lafayette asked, his voice cracking. Alexander ignored him, climbed into bed next to John, wrapped an arm around his shoulder. John just cried harder. 

“I told you everything,” Alex said patiently. “As long as he doesn’t get tied down again--” 

“Never,” Lafayette said. “Never ever, not while I have even one breath in my body.”

“Good. Now, are you gonna keep grandstanding or are you going to help me?” 

Though he felt chastised, Lafayette tried not to react. While this ordeal was bordering on a crisis, at least Alexander was calm, felt like they were on the same side once again. He could let his anger at the healer go, he could focus on John. 

John needed it. 

“What should I do?” He asked, tried to keep his voice gentle.

“Well, it looks like the healer was cleaning some of his wounds, applying that salve.” With his arms still around John, he jutted his chin to gesture at the table, laid out with more rags, a sponge, a basin of water, a beaker of light blue liquid, and a jar of a creamy salve. Lafayette went to the table, picked up the sponge, held it between his thumb and forefinger. Looked between the tools, and John laying on the bed, snug and trembling in Alex’s arms. 

“Alexander?”

But Alex ignored him, was speaking softly to John. “Sweetie, we need to look at you. Can we look at your wrist and neck? Jack?” Alexander pulled at the arm he had in reach, tugged gently. Watched as John uncurled, like a flower unfurling in the sun. His face was smeared with tears and sweat, his eyes squeezed shut. Let Alex examine his wrist. “Ok, Laf, he needs this one cleaned, probably bandaged, that damn rag cut him open.”

“I, um…” Lafayette looked back at the tools, feeling terrified. 

Alexander sighed in exasperation. “Come on, Laf, stop acting helpless” 

“I am not helpless,” Lafayette asserted. “Just have not ever done such as this before, I would not want to hurt him, make it worse.” 

Rolling his eyes, Alexander appeared to bite back whatever he really wanted to say. “Fine. Switch with me, then. Hold him.” They swapped places, Lafayette cradling John to him, holding his arm out as Alexander picked up the sponge as he muttered to himself. 

“If you have something to say,” Lafayette began, but Alexander shook his head, dipped the sponge in the basin, wrung it out. 

“Just never met a grown man who did not know how to bandage a surface wound, that’s all,” Alexander scoffed. Lafayette felt the blood rush to his cheeks in embarrassment. 

“I never had to,” he said defensively. 

“Of course not,” Alex said, but left it at that. Cleaning John’s first wrist went well enough, John laying placidly in Lafayette’s arms, still trembling, still hot as a burning fire, like he was running a fever. While Alexander dabbed the salve at John’s wrist, wrapped it gently in a bandage, Lafayette dared to put his hand to his brow, smooth away some of the sweaty curls plastered to his forehead. John’s eyelids unwrinkled slightly, as if the gesture relaxed him. His skin burned under Lafayette’s hand. 

“Ok, sweetheart?” Lafayette looked up, thought Alexander was addressing him, but it was John. “We need to look at your neck. We’ll be gentle, honey, just tilt your head back--” As John lifted his chin, let his head fall back against Laf’s shoulder, the King had to stifle his gasp. As if he wore a necklace, the ghost of the collar. A collection of dull cuts and flesh rubbed raw, ringed around John’s neck. He inhaled sharply as Alexander dabbed at them with the sponge. Lafayette hugged him slightly tighter. 

The evil leather and metal device still sat on the table, almost mocking them. 

Lafayette longed to burn it.

“Am I hurting you?” Alexander asked, using a rag to dry the now clean-wounds. 

John shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

“That collar really marked you up, huh?” Alex observed softly, conversationally. Lafayette was taken aback by his bluntness, but John did not seem affected. He quietly let Alexander clean his wounds. 

“Ugly,” he whimpered, when Alexander leaned in for a closer look. 

“You are not ugly,” Lafayette said reflexively. Alexander’s eyes flashed. 

“Is that why you won’t fuck me?” John’s voice warbled as he posed the question, the stark boldness of his question shocking even Alex, and he paused his work. “Because I’m ugly...ugly now... with ugly scars?” 

“John, my love, you are not ugly. You are not well, we cannot do such a thing until you are better,” Lafayette explained patiently, but before he knew it, John was crying again, weeping against his shoulder. 

“Is it because I’m bad?” he sobbed. 

“No!” Lafayette exclaimed, Alexander’s mouth tightening. 

But John barely heard their protests. He was rambling, begging them both, starting to squirm in Lafayette’s grip, making it impossible for Alexander to bandage his throat. 

“Hold him still, will you?” Alexander asked, ignoring John’s please. 

“I am trying, I do not want to hurt him!” Lafayette snapped back. Hated the thought of restraining John in anyway, of holding him down, but also knowing that John needed his neck bandaged. 

“I can’t do this if he’s wriggling around, Laf!” 

John just cried louder. 

***

Why didn’t they just see it? Both of them so close; it was like the smell of a river while dying of thirst. Sandwiched between them felt good at first, for a moment, snug and cozy, and the King held him close and Alexander was being kind, cleaning his cuts, but then no one was touching him. Before that, he had felt not too bad, not good either. The Healer had gotten mad at him, yelled at him for being bad, then tied him to the bed. That made sense, the Prince always tied him up. Bad boys aren’t allowed to touch themselves. Whores don’t need their hands to be free. When the Healer did not want to hear him whine anymore, he stuffed the rag in John’s mouth. The Prince never did that, but it was better than being slapped for talking when he shouldn’t. It helped. So why did the King and Alexander get mad at the Healer? He was just doing his job, the ties on his hands and feet kept him still, the rag in his mouth kept him quiet, and he was being good. If he had been good just a bit longer, maybe the Healer would have fucked him. He was being good for Alexander and the King, but they didn’t want him. They wouldn’t take him to the Prince, either. He wanted to try, try so hard be good for them, to earn what he wanted, what he needed, but instead now they were yelling, at each other, and nothing was right. He cried so hard his mouth couldn’t make words, couldn’t sound out “please” and “now” and “I want it,” instead he just cried and cried and cried. The inferno inside him reached a fever pitch, a roaring tempest of want and pain, dizzying in its breadth. The singular, consuming thought: 

John needed to be touched, but bad boys don’t get want they want.


	8. Chapter 8

Alexander was losing his patience, with Lafayette’s lack of fortitude and thoughtfulness, with John falling apart in their arms. “Just hold him!” Alexander repeated for what had to be the fifteenth time, Lafayette worried that holding him any tighter than one might handle a newly hatched bird would result in bodily injury. John might be diminished and weak, but he wasn’t made of glass. 

“I am doing what you have requested, Alexander,” Lafayette said through gritted teeth. John was sobbing like a child over a broken toy. Alexander did the best he could to block out the begging, the horrible requests, the degrading bargains he tried to make. When neither he nor Laf engaged, John was reduced to wordless sobs.

It was better than the begging, honestly.

“Are you almost done?” Lafayette asked.

“Stop rushing me!” He was winding the bandage around John’s throat. “I know it’s a challenge to, you know, _hold him_ , while I do all the actual work, but be patient, your highness.”

Detecting the notes of sarcasm, Lafayette’s face grew pinched. John was starting to lose some of his fight, was squirming weakly in his arms, whimpering. “Keeping him still without hurting him is not easy.”

“I assume not, since you cannot seem to do it.”

“Perhaps if you worked at a reasonable pace—“

“Perhaps if you didn’t just fire the healer—“

“And perhaps if you—“

Before Lafayette could finish his sentence, they were interrupted. “Is this a bad time?” asked a voice from the doorway.

“No,” Lafayette said quickly, at the exact same moment that Alexander said “Yes.” He did not even spare a glance at the visitors, not really wanting anyone to see them at this moment, bickering like children, their lover crying like a lost pup and horny as a bitch in heat caught between them. Lafayette glared at his dismissal of whoever was at the door.

“They are the visiting princesses,” he said quickly, in explanation. Alexander shrugged.

“Your majesty, we were hoping to come in, properly greet Alexander and check in on John’s condition.”

At the sound of his name, Alexander looked up. Even John quieted, and stilled, between them. The two young ladies standing in doorway were fresher than morning flowers, bright and cheerful and pretty. Dressed in complementary colors of mint and yellow. The girl in the yellow gown Alexander had met during the rescue, though she looked quite different out of her armor and not brandishing a sword.

The princess robed in silks of minty blue actually made Alexander forget for a split second exactly what he was doing. Her skin practically glowed, and her black hair fell in soft waves down her shoulder. Her face was lovely, with sharp, aristocratic features, and a pretty, heart shaped mouth. Dark eyes filled with warmth as she surveyed the chaotic scene in the room. 

Alexander forced himself to look away. While he could not think of an acceptable time for him to be staring unabashedly at a beautiful princess, he knew this one of the worst possible of times. 

“Forgive me, princesses, I am not in the right mind to be receiving guests,” he said primly. When the ladies entered the room, John had gone still on the bed. He peered up at them shyly, his curls falling in his eyes, his mouth frowning. Alexander took the opportunity to finish bandaging his neck, quickly tying it off and tucking the tail into the layers of muslin.

“We are not expecting much, sir,” she said, curtsied quickly. “Just wanted to see your condition, inquire of John’s.”

“Stop being so polite, ‘Liza,” the one in yellow snapped. “I helped save them, I want to see them!”

“Peggy--!”

“Do not ‘Peggy,’ me,” she continued, ignored whatever nonsense was actually happening on the bed, peered down at John. He turned his eyes away from her scrutiny, blushed. “Glad to see you’re awake, John. You looked basically dead last time I saw you.”

Alexander frowned, and the other princess-- Eliza-- said her sister’s name warningly again. 

“You did a horrible job with his bandages,” she continued, and Alexander’s frown deepened. 

“Well, Princess, Peggy? Was it? You are welcome to try if you think you can do better,” he said stiffly. Not only did he hate being criticized, he was not in any mood for being laid into by a perfect stranger. 

“I can’t do a better job,” she said, matter-of-fact. “But you know who could? A healer.”

“A brilliant idea!” Alexander exclaimed, sarcastic. Now that John was no longer having a tantrum, he could actually think, and the weight of the last few hours’ events started to press down on him, wear on him. “I am impressed to find a princess not only so beautiful and brave, but a genius as well! Lafayette, why did _we_ not think of a healer?” But Lafayette did not respond, was observing John intently. “We had a healer, but the King had a… moment, and fired him.”

“Why the hell would he do that?” Peggy glared at Laf, looking suspicious. “You think this guy can do a better job?” Alexander’s blood started to hum at her...rudeness, but when Lafayette spoke he sounded so distraught, he forgot his anger for just a moment. 

“No. The healer...he--he-- He tied John down, like a criminal. Something is not right with him, he has been hysterical. Drugged with some sort of aphrodisiac, and in pain, unable to control his urges.”

“Well, he looks fine now,” Peggy said. “I don’t see any urges.” 

Despite the tense moment, Eliza giggled, drawing their gaze. “Forgive me. I think what my sister means to say, is that despite fatigue and his injuries, John appears...well...rather calm.” 

And she was right. He was laying on the bed, gazing at Peggy and Eliza in a haze, but he was still. Not crying, not screaming. Breathing heavily, but watching. Not normal, but calm. 

Alexander caught Lafayette’s eye. “He calmed down the moment they walked in,” he said. 

“Were there any women at the manor during your captivity?” Lafayette asked. Alex shook his head. 

“No, the Prince employed male servants only.”

“Perhaps the drug’s effects are lessened in the presence of ladies,” Lafayette remarked. “John has never felt...remotely attracted...to women.” 

“Wish I had that problem,” Peggy stage whispered, and Eliza rolled her eyes. 

“Do we have any female healers?” Alex asked. “One that can care for him, without setting him off?”

“I do not know,” Lafayette admitted. 

“How could you not know?” Alex returned, waspish. “This is your palace, Laf, you should know everything.”

“I empower my staff to run themselves,” he said carefully, making Alexander scoff.

“And look where that got us. A brother that stages a semi-coup and kidnaps your lovers under your damned nose!” 

“Alexander, please,” he pled, glancing at the princesses, at John. “Not now.”

“Your majesty, if I may,” Eliza cut in, curtsying again. Alexander looked at her again, realizing he had been avoiding laying his eyes on her completely. Her beauty was unassuming and unexpected, and it caught him off guard. “If you would like, Peggy and I would be happy to sit here with John, watch over him, while you and Alexander fetch a new healer.”

“Ohh, yes,” Peggy added. 

“You would?” Lafayette asked, and the sisters nodded. “Thank you, that would...would mean a lot to us.”

“Can they even be trusted?” Alex asked bluntly. 

“Alexander, of course!” Lafayette asked. “Forgive him, princesses--”

“No need,” Eliza said. “We understand your ordeal has been...traumatic. Leaving John in the care of anyone must be hard right now.”

“I trust you,” Lafayette said. “I trust you both.” He ruffled John’s hair, kissed him on the cheek swiftly. “We will find a healer that suits his needs. Princesses, thank you.” 

“It is our pleasure,” said Eliza. Peggy had already plopped down on the bed next to John, was looking through the stack of botany books on the healer’s table. 

“Take your time,” she said. “Find the best healer you can.”

Still reluctant to leave John with strangers, Alexander looked imploringly to the King. “Come, Alexander,” he said, grabbed him by the elbow. “Truly, I trust these ladies with my life.” 

But could they be trusted with John’s?

He let himself be steered from room, the door shutting behind them like thunder.


	9. Chapter 9

Alex and the King were gone. John peered up at the two beautiful princesses in the room, feeling shy and confused. When they were near, he felt...strange. Different. The fire inside him diminished to a glowing ember, one that only sparked when Alex or the King looked at him. And now, left alone with these two ladies, that ember he could even ignore. 

Without the roar of wanting in his head, he could almost think clearly. It was like walKing across a frozen pond, the ice thin and splintered beneath his feet. They were both beautiful and graceful, well dressed, polite. Their voices tinkling like music. Which one was the King’s betrothed? Which one would soon be his queen? 

The darker haired one-- Princess Eliza-- smoothed her skirts and sat on the chair next to the bed. Princess Peggy continued to leaf through one of the healer’s books curiously. 

“How are you feeling?” Princess Eliza asked, smiling at him warmly. It had to be her. She was kind, and beautiful, and only such a woman full of grace and gentility would sit at the bedside of a broken whore, inquire of his injuries. 

John was not sure what to say. He wanted to be articulate and respond politely, but did not know how to address the future queen. He wondered vaguely what would happen when they wed, what would become of him. Surely the King would have no more use for him. 

“Did your stay at the manor take your voice?” Princess Peggy asked, sounding half kidding. “Eliza asked you a question. Or is silence another side effect of this mysterious drug?”

Eliza’s gaze was sharp as she looked over at her sister, but softened when she looked back at John. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t feel like it right now,” she said softly. 

“Forgive me,” he said, almost a whisper. Hoarse. It didn’t matter. “I am...I am not sure how to address the future queen.” Turned his eyes down, hands twisting in the blanket. He almost wished he was back in his cage. It was quiet there. No one bothered him. 

“You must have me confused with someone else,” she said. “My sister, Angelica, perhaps? She is the eldest, set to inherit our Kingdom. And you can call me Eliza, no need for honorifics.” 

“Even though you are the King’s fiancee?” he asked. 

Upon hearing his question, Peggy burst out in laughter. So loud it was almost garish in this bleak room. John flinched. “Sorry,” she snorted. 

“John, you must have misunderstood,” Eliza said. Her brow furrowed. John turned to Peggy, still giggling to herself. Maybe the King preferred her spirit, her unexpected personality to Eliza’s quiet grace. 

“I apologize,” he mumbled. “How should I address you, then, as his betrothed?” 

Peggy’s laughter suddenly stopped. “Betrothed?” she echoed. “Did you hit your head, John? I am certainly not betrothed to any man, not even your precious Lafayette.” 

John looked between them, both staring directly at him. Suddenly aware of his unkempt appearance. Dressed in plain night shirt. Not having a proper bath in days. Hair a tangled nest of curls and frizz. “The Prince said the King got engaged the evening of the ball. I assumed…”

“Well, not only did you assume wrong, but the Prince lied, John,” Peggy said bluntly. “There was no engagement. Nothing.”

It was like time stopped. The past few months… But the Prince said. The King...the King… 

“He’s not engaged?” John whispered. Both princesses shook their heads. 

“How could he be?” Peggy asked. “He’s madly in love with you. God, I swear, _men_ \--”

“But. I’ve been gone. For months.”

“And?” said Peggy. “Do you think that was enough to change how he felt?”

Feeling chastened, John looked back at his hands. Confused. The King couldn’t love him, he was dirty, he was broken. Thomas said so. 

“John. Since Thomas kidnapped you. Lafayette has been beside himself with worry and grief,” Eliza explained. 

Peggy snorted. “That’s an understatement. John, he’s been useless since you were taken. Locked himself in your bedchambers, wouldn’t see anyone for weeks. It’s been awful. There was some horrible rumor that our Kingdoms might have a conflict, so we came to visit. Convinced him to start looKing for you, stop trusting that snake of a brother, and lo and behold, here we are.” 

All this information was falling like rain, fast and hard. The King wasn’t engaged. The King had missed him. It felt good for a moment, but then John remembered the nights of doubt in his heart, the pain, the sound of his own voice as he begged for the Prince. The only thing that kept him alive was protecting Alexander. Suddenly, it was like he had betrayed the King. Everything he thought he knew crumbled. A castle made of cards, blown apart. 

Eliza reached over, smoothed the blanket over his lap. Drew John’s gaze to her. “I think that this is a lot of information, and you have had a horrible ordeal. We do not need to talk of such things right now. How does that sound?” 

John bit his lip. Nodded. Wished for the dark of night so he could be alone, be quiet, be left in the dark where he belonged. 

“Have you eaten?” Eliza continued.

“Doubt it,” Peggy responded, gestured theatrically at the untouched tray of bread and soup on the side table. 

“Are you hungry?” Eliza seemed quite skilled at ignoring her sister’s dramatics. When John did not answer, she pressed him. “Surely, you have not eaten in sometime.”

“A little hungry,” John admitted. 

“Then why didn’t you eat?” Peggy wondered. Watched Eliza reach over for the tray. Picked up the silver spoon, stirred the soup. 

“Am I allowed?” John still couldn’t look at either of them. 

There was a soft sigh of sympathy from Eliza. She spooned some of the broth. Before John knew what was happening, she had pressed the spoon to his lips, fed him a mouthful of the soup. Despite its tepid temperature, it was salty and flavorful. The rosemary in it reminded him of suppers in the Inner Chamber, back before…

His eyes filled with tears. 

“More?” Eliza asked. Another spoonful of broth. John nodded, still couldn’t look at them. The tinkling of the spoon against the china bowl. Mouthfuls of the bright, herby broth. Eliza even tore up the heel of bread, dipped the crusts in the broth to soften them. Fed him a few pieces of that. John managed at least half a dozen spoonfuls of the soup, three bites of bread, before his stomach started to knot up. Too much. The King would be angry if he ate too much, if he got greedy. 

 

“Enough,” he whispered, turned his face away from the next bite she offered him. “I am full. Thank you, Princess.”

She set the spoon on the tray, the tray on the table. “Eliza,” she corrected. “You are very welcome, John.”

After the broth settled in his belly, John felt suddenly very tired. “May I take a nap?” he asked timidly. Hoped they would say yes. 

“God, John, you don’t have to ask,” Peggy said, rolled her eyes. 

“Of course, John. Rest. We will be here when you wake.”

John barely heard her, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids. Shut his eyes, lay down his head. Welcomed the dark. 

***

Voices again. The King, Alexander, Peggy, Eliza. Another voice. Quiet. Do not wake him, he’s resting. Did he eat? A little, it was hard. He’s very shy, very nervous. Thought you were engaged. I told you, Thomas spent the last few months filling his head with lies. It’s not important, let her examine him. What. Now? He’s sleeping.

John popped an eye open. Alexander and the King. Laying his gaze of them, right as he woke, on the boundary of dreams, the fire inside him returned. Roared. Even the presence of ladies was not enough to subdue it. 

Half awake, he scrambled out of bed, kicked off the blanket. The flurry of activity halted the conversation, but he barely noticed. He didn’t want to be in trouble, he wanted to respect the King, and maybe if he was good, they would touch him they would fuck him they would take him they would make him feel better quiet the fire. 

“John, you’re awake?” Alex said, but John barely heard. As his feet hit the floor, he dropped to his knees. Bowed his head. Hoped the King was watching. 

The Princesses said something to Alexander, and there was the quiet of a door opening and closing. The third person with them, she ignored John for the moment, went to the healer’s table and began straightening its contents. 

“John, sweetheart--” Alex was at his side, but John hardly noticed. He snuck a glance up at the King, who was watching him, his face unreadable. 

He wanted to talk, to say please, please, he would take anything, he would be good. Instead he simply whimpered, started to pull his nightshirt off. 

The King looked horrified. 

“Stop,” Alex said softly. Put his hands over John’s, stopped him from undressing. “Stay dressed, honey, let’s get you back into bed.” 

John whimpered again. Looked at the King. _Why didn’t they want him?_

Bad. Ugly. Dirty. Bad. 

***

At least Alexander managed to get John to stop undressing, off of his knees, into the bed. No thanks to the King, who just watched on, transfixed and horrified. 

“Bad boys on their knees,” John whispered. “I’m supposed to...supposed to pleasure the King.” 

Behind them, Lafayette gasped, protested, but Alex just held up his hand. “Come here, Laf. Stop staring, I need you.” 

“He--he is--” 

“He’s doing what Thomas taught him,” Alexander snapped. “Come sit with us.” 

Timidly, Lafayette sat on the other side of the bed. John looked at him, like a war was happening in his heart and mind. 

“John, my love. You are safe.” 

“I’m supposed to kneel,” he said. “Bad boys kneel.”

“You aren’t bad,” Lafayette said. Took John’s hand in his. “You are good. You are perfect.” 

Pouting, John looked between Alex and Laf, confused and sad. 

“John, we brought you a new healer. She would like to meet you,” the King continued. Rubbed John’s hand with his. 

John did not hear. Someone was touching him. It was all that mattered.


	10. Chapter 10

“John? My love?” said the King. Ruffled John’s curls to get his attention. John looked up at him as if in a fog. The finest patina of sweat made his skin sparkle, and under the pallor and greyish cast of his complexion, he was still the loveliest sight Lafayette could ever imagine. John. Alive. Whole. In his arms. Just thinKing the words made his heart race, but as quick as the feeling came, it went. John was whole, but nothing was right. He steeled himself. Had to get a handle on his feelings. The only way John would ever get better is if Lafayette could be his rock, guide the whole process. He had to do it for him, despite the urge to just break down.

“John,” he repeated. John licked his lips, his eyes darting between Laf’s and Alex’s faces, unsure where to look. He blushed.

“Yes, your highness?” he whispered. His voice cracked.

“Alexander and I have brought you a new healer. She wants to meet you, examine your injuries. Are you up for such a thing right now, my dear?”

Even though he still looked very lost and pale, John nodded.

The healer came to the bed. Alexander shifted, stood awkwardly next to the bed to give the healer room. Lafayette watched him, ignored his glare. He would not let John go. The healer could work just fine with John cradled in his arms.

“Mr. Laurens?” said the healer. She had a pile of dark and coiled curls falling past her shoulders, and she took a moment to tie them back with a ribbon. Her dress was a fiery orange color, modestly cut, but set against her rich skin. “May I please look at your injuries? I’ll let you know before I touch you, how does that sound?”

John nodded again, cast his eyes down. Lafayette could feel him trembling in his arms. No mind, he would watch the healer like a hawk, pull John away the first sign of trouble. Hunting down a female healer had been a unique struggle. She was the only one in the palace, and the head healer scoffed at the King when he requested her. “Her only area of expertise is midwifery,” he said quickly, offered up any of the other more experienced men that worked in the palace. But the King ignored him, and he and Alexander approached this healer – Maria— as quickly as they could. She listened, face solemn, to them describe John’s condition in the most efficient and general way as possible, then agreed without any fanfare to take a look at him.

Maria hummed quietly to herself as she worked, unwinding the bandages on John’s wrists and ankles. She took his left wrist into her hand, looked closely. Watching her work was almost hypnotizing, and John was still and quiet for it. With care, she rewashed each of his abrasions, applied a salve she had brought with her in her midwifery kit. “I make it myself,” she said conversationally as Lafayette watched. It smelled of lavender and mint, a comforting smell. “I find some of the more conventionally accepted potions too harsh for mothers in labor.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Works well for victims of trauma as well.”

Alex looked on the verge of saying something, but bit it back. Maria worked quickly, wrapped his wrists and ankles up in bandages. The handiwork was efficient and tidy. “May I look at your neck now, Mr. Laurens?” she asked. John’s face grew pinched at the question.

“You don’t have to call me that,” he said.

“What would you like me to call you?” she prompted gently.

He shrugged.

“Call him John,” Alexander cut in. Maria looked to the King, who nodded in agreement.

“Of course. John, may I examine your neck?”

John shrugged again. Maria took it as consent, and carefully unwound the bandage that had been sloppily applied to his throat. Even though he had seen the extent of John’s injuries several times by now, the sight of his beloved’s throat ringed with a collection of bruises and abrasions still caught him off guard. His heart pounded, his blood ran hot with rage. Only months of being collared like an animal could do such a thing, and Alexander had told him… 

John, leashed and led like a pet. John, raped nightly. John, not permitted to speak or walk, robbed of his humanity. That bright spark of happiness and light in his eyes had been put out, and there was only one man responsible—

“Lafayette?” said Alexander, while Maria looked up. John didn’t react. Laf realized he was shaKing, almost as bad as John. “You look pale, you’re shaKing… Are you ok?”

“I am fine,” Lafayette said curtly. Tried to refocus on the moment, ignore the swell of rage inside him, before it swept over him like a tidal wave. “Maria, what can you tell us about his condition?” The question put the focus back on John, away from him. Away from the violent thoughts threatening to become action…

“There are a few things I can tell right off, but I will have a clearer picture if I may ask him some questions?” Alexander and Lafayette both nodded, so Maria continued. “John, how often were you bathed while being held prisoner?”

John looked nervously between Alexander and Lafayette again, unsure. Alex nodded, grabbed John’s hand. “Tell her, honey. You are allowed to talk.”

Without looKing at anyone, choosing to stare at his own hands, John finally answered. “Every morning. Sometimes, at night too, if the Prince got me too dirty.”

“Did they remove your collar or the cuffs on your wrists or ankles?”

“N-no. My hands had to be behind me. They needed to keep the collar on, to hook me to the bar in the baths so I couldn’t run away.” He spoke in a flat voice Lafayette had never heard. He tried not to picture John trussed up, being bathed by uncaring servants, but the image invaded his mind’s eye. He clenched his teeth to keep from shouting.

“I see. That makes some sense. The cuffs were loose enough to get some water through to cleanse the wounds, and they dried easier. However, I am noticing the beginnings of an infection on your neck, where the collar sat.”

“What—?” began Alex, but Lafayette interrupted.

“What must be done? Can he be healed?”

“Oh, absolutely. I caught it early enough. With medicine, rest, more salve, he should be ok. That’s why he is running a fever.”

“Is that the cause of his behavioral symptoms as well?” Alexander asked, hope in his voice. 

“I am inclined to say no. I need more information about his condition.” She looked back at John. “I have some questions of a more personal nature. Do I have your permission to ask them?”

John nodded, but looked nervously at Lafayette and Alexander again.

“Tell me how you’re feeling,” she requested simply.

John shrugged.

“Do you feel different when your lovers are in the room? Alone with you?”

Eyes on the floor. “Yes.”

“How does it feel?”

Eyes squeezed shut. Deep breath. “Pain.”

“What kind of pain? Where?”

“My…my…” He was turning red. ShaKing. Lafayette moved as if to speak, to stop her, but Alexander shook his head. “Between my legs.”

“Your manhood?” she prompted.

“Yes. And my ass.” A tear dripped down John’s cheek, plopped on the blanket. “Need to be touched. It hurts. Feels better when they touch me. Would feel much better if they fucked me.”

“Oh, so not pain, exactly, but more intense arousal?”

John nodded. “When I was with the Prince, and I felt sick like this, he would fuck me. Alexander too.”

Alex rubbed his own mouth, chin, a gesture of pain and discomfort. Lafayette ignored him. It was the truth, was it not? 

“Is there any times the feeling goes away?” 

“Ummm…”

“He seemed calmer with the Princesses present,” Lafayette interjected. 

“What about when you are alone?” Maria continued. 

“Same,” John whispered. “Pain. It hurts. Wanna...wanna be with someone.” He shut his eyes and paled. 

Maria sat in silence, seemed to think to herself. 

“Do you know what it is?” Alexander said, his voice sharp. “Thomas was drugging him, I saw the changes first hand. He was sluggish, subdued. Then, then constantly aroused. Can you figure out what he gave him? How to fix it?”

She sighed, plucked a book off the table behind her. “Mr. Hamilton. Your highness. I have my suspicions. There are plenty of potions and medicines that increase libido, both for humans and animal husbandry. However, their effects are generally temporary. This is unlike anything I have ever seen. And the fact that it seems to come and go depending on who is in his presence.” She paused, opened the book. “I have to do some research.”

“While investigating, will you be able to keep treating him?” Lafayette asked. 

“That was my intention, if it pleases the crown,” she said. 

Lafayette’s face broke into a smile of relief. “Yes. Thank you, Maria. I will have a contract drawn up for you. Whatever pay you were receiving in your previous position will be tenfold, with an allowance for living expenses while staying here in the palace.”

“Your majesty, that is too generous--”

The King held up his hand, shook his head. “I will hear none of it. Care for John is my number one priority, as is yours now. If you find a cure, mark my words, you will be rewarded handsomely.”

Maria nodded once, curtly. Before she could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. 

“Your highness?” The door opened, and there was General Washington, along with Peggy and Eliza. Peggy had a strange look on her face while she surveyed the scene in the room. 

“Yes, general?” Lafayette shifted. John was appearing to grow sleepy again, looKing ready to doze off. At least asleep, his torment was at bay. 

“We have a problem.”

***  
While the King and Alexander stepped out to speak with the General, John was left alone again with the princesses and his new healer. The new healer was kind, she touched him gently, and asked him questions softly. He didn’t mind that at all. Eliza came and sat in the chair next to the bed, Peggy stayed by the door. 

“Is everything alright?” the healer asked, after curtseying to each of the princesses in turn.

“Just a minor… personal issue,” Eliza filled in. “Nothing catastrophic.” 

“Seems the King cannot get a moment of peace around here,” the healer mused. “John, would it be alright if I asked you a few more questions?” 

“Yes ma’am,” he said. He wanted to be good, even if the ladies touching him meant nothing. Perhaps, if he was good for them, they would tell the King and the King would want him again. 

“I want to hear about your...stay... with the prince.”

“Um…” John looked back at his hands. 

“Only to the extent you are willing to share. I felt you might be able to speak more freely without the King present, and the more I know about your ordeal, the better prepared I can be to help you.”

John swallowed. He wasn’t sure what to say. It was hard to remember all of it. 

“Do you want us to step out, John?” Eliza asked. He shook his head. It didn’t matter who heard, he didn’t do anything he wasn’t meant to do. He was a whore, wasn’t he?

“Night of the ball. I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in a bath. Thomas’s...house. He took care of me and Alex. Made sure Alex had clothes and food. I was...I was bad so I had to wear the cuffs. And the plug.”

Maria nodded. “Did the healer before me take out the plug?” 

“I don’t know. It’s gone now. I didn’t...didn’t mind it. Bad boys need it.”

All three ladies were listening in rapt attention, strangely similar looks of shock on their faces. 

“What else happened, John?” 

“Library.” John shuddered. Even though he knew he was supposed to, he didn’t like being on his knees to suck. The ground hurt. Thomas in his mouth. His throat. Hands in his hair. Bad pup, bad. “Thomas made Alexander read to us. He listened. I had to sit on my knees. Bad boys go on their knees, open their mouths.” He swallowed. Didn’t want to cry. “Thomas asked me to suck him. So I could be good.”

“Continue when you’re ready, John.” 

John looked up. Eliza took his hand, squeezed it. Friendly. He liked that. 

“During the day, I stayed in my cage. Madison would bring me lunch sometimes. I liked that. Madison was kind to me. When I was good, Alexander would visit. Sometimes, Thomas asked Alexander to fuck me. To use me. I didn’t like it at first, but then I did like it. I love Alexander, and I miss him. Thomas loved Alexander too, because Alexander is a good boy and beautiful and special. Thomas...Thomas said the King was getting married, and that we were supposed to be executed. He rescued us.” 

“John. He lied about that,” Peggy interrupted. “Lafayette would never--”

“Doesn’t matter. The King doesn’t want me anymore.”

“But--”

“He doesn’t like dirty boys. I’m dirty. Thomas used me for what I’m for, and the King doesn’t want me after that. And...and...Alexander… I think Alexander is upset because he was Thomas’s favorite, and now Thomas is in trouble, because of me.” 

“John. Lafayette loves you,” Eliza said kindly. “Very much.” 

“Then why hasn’t he fucked me?” John snapped, the words crass and metallic as they spilled from his lips. “He won’t use me, he won’t touch me, he won’t, he won’t…” He burst into tears. For a moment, he thought maybe one of the ladies would slap him, tell him to be quiet. Instead, Peggy came to the bed. Before he knew it, he was sandwiched in a hug between both princesses as they let him cry. 

Nothing else was said. They just held him while he cried, until the tears ran dry.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I was away from home without my laptop until today!
> 
> Enjoy!! I love you guys

John did not even hear the door open. Eliza spoke softly to whoever came to the door. It was neither the King nor Alexander, because the door then shut. John lifted his head from Peggy’s shoulder. It was nice having someone hug him, but it also made him feel funny. Like he didn’t deserve any of this. He had spent the last few months betraying the loves of his life, over and over and over again. The running words in his head – slut, bad, whore, bad, pet, bad bad bad-- like a deafening war drum beat.

He did not deserve peace, not in his traitor heart.

Eliza came back to the bedside, holding a tray with a silver dome. “When you were missing, Lafayette would talk about you, tell stories about you, to me. He loved sharing those happy memories. And, something he talked about a lot—“ She paused for effect, set the tray down, took her seat on the chair. “Was how much you loved desserts!” She giggled, plucked the dome off the tray.

Now John was paying attention. On the platter under the dome was a gorgeous array of pastries and sweets. His favorite cakes, glistening with honey. Several varieties of cookies, dotted with chocolate, iced with colorful frosting, studded with fruits and nuts. Croissants stuffed with almond paste. Creamy squares of fudge.

Next to him, Peggy’s face broke into a smile. “That’s right. Laf did say you have quite the sweet tooth.”

“Shall I make you plate, John?” Eliza asked. She looked over at the healer, who was watching the scene unfold, her eyes soft. “Of course, as long as the healer approves. I know it’s not the…most nutritious of meals, but…” 

The healer smiled, albeit a little sadly. “He is so malnourished, I will be happy if he eats anything, in all honesty.”

John hardly heard, he was staring at the food with intense concentration. He only looked up when Eliza said his name.

“What would you like first?” Her eyes crinkled when she smiled.

As much as he loved the honey cakes, the last time he tasted them was the night of the ball, and they were not as appealing as they once were. He wasn’t sure if the sweetness would bring him right back to that night.

“Can…can I have a cookie, please?”

“Of course!” Eliza plucked several of the cookies off the platter, placed them on the plate. Set the plate in his lap. John stared at them, unsure. It was almost as if his brain knew he had permission to eat the cookies, but he could not force himself to pick up one off the plate. His arm would not obey his mental commands.

Eliza noticed his internal battle, and she kindly touched the back of his hand. “Which one?” she asked. 

“Chocolate, please,” he requested. Watched, transfixed, as Eliza broke the cookie into manageable bites. She picked one up, held to his mouth. Placed the morsel between his lips. After the first bite, the sweetness so deep and sharp it almost cut him, John was able to ask for more, part his lips, allow the princess to feed him each bite until almost three of the cookies were gone. 

“Who authorized this?” Alexander’s voice at the door, sounding angry. John immediately dropped the piece of cookie he was holding, heard it crumble on the plate. 

“I’m sorry,” he immediately whimpered, twisting his hands nervously, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Alex, I didn’t know that I wasn’t allowed--”

“I authorized it,” said Eliza, swiftly, her voice cutting like diamond on glass. A ship in a storm. 

“Under my supervision,” Maria added, sounding calm and steady. 

The King was right behind Alexander, looked ready to say something, but once Alex got started, there was no interrupting him. “Oh, forgive me, Madam Healer and your highness, but what part of John’s recovery plan included chocolate cookies?” He stormed forward, placed the silver dome back on the platter, the loud clank it made making John flinch. 

Eliza’s face grew tense and pinched, but when she spoke, her soft voice remained steady. “John was hungry, and from what Lafayette has told me, he loves sweets, and I just thought--” 

“You just thought?” Alexander sneered as he whipped around to face her. John did not like the change in the room, the anger suddenly filling the air. He longed to curl up under the blanket, cover his ears. If they were alone, and the ladies not present, he could make Alexander feel better, stop him from being angry. This was his fault. 

“You. Just thought.” Alex repeated. His eyes blazed like a thunderstorm. Eliza squared her shoulders, surveyed him calmly. Let him speak. “Did you stop and think, princess? That perhaps your selections might not be the most psychologically appropriate? That these very honey cakes once carried the poison that incapacitated us, allowing Thomas to kidnap us? That they were the last thing we tasted before our captivity?” As he continued, his voice grew louder, higher and he began to pace, looking panicked.

“Alexander--” The King began, but was cut off. 

“That I had to eat such puddings and pastries in front of him, while Thomas starved him half to death? That these cookies, these chocolate cookies, were the exact ones Thomas fed him after forcing me to rape him? Did you not think, for a single second, princess, that perhaps these choices might bring John back to reliving such memories?”

Time seemed frozen. Alexander, paused and panting, enraged. The King looking pained and anxious. Maria’s face unreadable. Peggy observing, her face revealing her horror. Eliza, however, stood her ground, kept her face smooth. Her eyes kind, even as Alexander ended his rant. 

“With all due respect, Mr. Hamilton, I did think. I thought quite carefully. I thought that taste of something John enjoys would whet his appetite, as he is malnourished and any amount of calories would do him well. I also thought, that as an adult, he is fully capable of making his own decisions regarding what he eats, and would trust his judgement when selecting something to eat.”

“Right, because you, having known him for a total of two hours, know what’s best for him then?” Alexander snapped. 

“Alexander, please,” the King said, trying to calm him. As if they had completely switched roles from the morning, when the King had been enraged and Alexander stayed calm. “She is trying to help.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Surely a princess would know more than me, obviously.” The sarcasm in his voice cut like a knife through butter. 

“You know that’s not what he meant.” Peggy this time, far less patient than her sister. “You are not the only one who cares about John getting better, Alexander.” 

When Alexander spoke next, his voice came out in a hurried half-shout, bouncing off the walls, making John flinch. He didn’t want Alexander to be angry. Not at him, not because of the cookies. Once Alexander yelled, so did Peggy, and Maria and Eliza’s softer voices attempted to cut through the fray. Only the King said nothing. John stole a look up at him. Saw the King looking back, staring at him really, sadness and longing and tenderness in his gaze. Every little feeling John did not deserve. 

He pushed the plate holding the remaining cookies away, off his lap. 

Buried his face in his hands. 

Wished for silence. Wished to be alone.


	12. Chapter 12

Two weeks. John could feel himself getting a little better every day. He’d wake up stronger, less achy and stiff, head clearer every day. He woke up alone these days, the sunlight streaming through the sky light. He woke before the King would arrive, or Maria, or Eliza or Peggy or even Alexander, relishing those first clear, calm moments before the hunger set in, before the memories rushed back.

It took him sometime to get used to waking alone, but after the initial first few nights of being rescued, it became apparent that sleeping alone was a necessity. The King and Alexander both tried, in various configurations, to spend the night with him. In his bed, him between the two of them, a cot brought in, but it didn’t matter. Every time, waking up, between the seam of dreaming and daylight, their very presence drove him into a frenzy, one that ended in tears and arguing. The final straw had resulted in John shouting at the them to leave, to leave him be, sleep anywhere else. Alexander, practically seething, and The King, biting back tears, had retreated, promised to greet him in the morning. 

So, where the King and Alexander slept these nights, John was unsure, but waKing up alone was actually helpful. It reminded him of swimming, and taking a moment in the shallows to catch his breath. He could find the ground with his toes. Steady himself. Breathe. 

He would lay for an hour or so, listening to the birds and the palace waking. Try to recall his dreams. They were dark and dim, always out of reach. A taste on the back of his tongue. Shadows and voices and touch. Most days, he could will his body to calm, as long as he was alone. 

However, once others entered the room, any delicate bargain he struck with his body and his mind could be overturned at any moment. It seemed random, arbitrary. The healer, Maria, always, with the King and Alexander. Sometimes Eliza, sometimes Peggy, sometimes both. They would talk. Someone would feed him breakfast. The King tried, several times, but the very act of his hand so close to John’s mouth, his presence, would activate that itch. 

His wounds healed. His infection faded. His fever broke. But the itch, the hunger, would vacillate between a light buzz and an insatiable roar. What that meant was he was in constant, taut torment. John managed best when he was alone or with just Maria, Peggy and Eliza. If The King or Alexander entered the room, but the ladies still present, that would increase to more severe levels. Left alone with one of them, he could not contain his urges, and was torn between preserving what fragile peace he could contain in the room and indulging in his basest needs. This often led to immense, unspeakable pain, that would explode in an outburst and hurt feelings and chaos and arguments between the other two men. 

No, it was best not to be left alone with The King or Alexander.

But oh, how he missed them. He knew, deep down, he had earned this perfectly designed punishment. He had betrayed them both. He did not deserve their touch, their company, their presence, their comfort. John almost relished the suffering, as some kind of twisted penance. To have them near, but be denied their full attentions. To ache for them, every inch of his skin, and his heart. He deserved the distance, the pitying looks, the tension in the room. 

Really, if he truly thought about it, what he really deserved was to be locked away, in a cell, with The Prince. The Prince still owned him. He knew he was in the palace still. One afternoon, when he woke from a nap, but kept his eyes shut, he eavesdropped on The King, Alexander, and Peggy having a fierce, but hushed, argument. The Prince was in a cell. So were all the servants, in a separate wing. The servant called Burr had a daughter, named Theo, that Alexander wanted to make sure was cared for. The King was unsure how to proceed. But somewhere, in that palace, was The Prince, waiting for him, and John almost ached for him. It was wrong. He knew this. But he also knew that The Prince owned him, that he had changed him, that when the King and Alexander finally realized exactly what he was, what was wrong with him, he’d be back with The Prince.

While he waited for what he considered the rightful ending to this farce, he tried so hard to be good. To never ask for anything. To speak only when spoken to. To eat every bite of every meal fed to him, to stop before he got too greedy. To hide the things he really wanted. 

Around the time he no longer needed bandages for any wounds except his throat, Princess Angelica arrived. Her sisters had written to her, and as an act of friendship and good faith, she deemed it prudent to visit the neighboring Kingdom, pay her respects to the King, and finally meet John and Alexander. 

Her arrival, while lacking fanfare, made everyone buzz with anticipation. Eliza and Peggy, of course, were elated to see their sister. The King was nervous, but ultimately grateful. Alexander seemed annoyed and distracted. John, well. John did not know what to think. The afternoon of her arrival, she glided into the room, her long peach colored gown and graceful steps giving her the appearance of floating. She was very beautiful, her cloud of full curls a dark halo around her face, her sharp, black eyes taking in the scene. 

“Princess Angelica, this is my lover, John Laurens,” the King presented, and the formality of his tone made John sit up a bit straighter, still his hands, avert his gaze. 

Angelica was silent for a moment, he felt shy under her gaze. “Well, this is absolutely unacceptable,” she scoffed, and John looked up, confused. He expected her to storm from the room, from her tone, but instead she strode forward, snapped for a servant to bring her traveling case. “The state of this poor boy’s appearance! I expect such lack of care from men--” she threw a scathing look at The King and Alexander. The King wilted under her gaze, but Alexander just looked perturbed. “--But Eliza! Peggy! Could you not dress the poor boy? And his hair!” She fished a comb out of her traveling case, moved for John to scooch on the bed. Bewildered, he followed suit. 

“Ang, he’s been sick,” Peggy whined, sounding like a teenager. Maria giggled. 

“She’s right, sister,” Eliza added. “There were more pressing matters--”

“Nonsense.” Angelica was sectioning his tangled hair, spritzed it with some water from a glass bottle on the bedside table. With a gentleness that contrasted with her sharp tone, she began combing at one of the knots in the back of his head. “Eliza, with your stick-straight hair, I don’t expect you to understand, but Peggy knows. Curls like this need care!”

“It’s not as if he’s attending garden parties at the moment,” Alexander said sarcastically, earning a pointed look from the King. 

“Too true. But, I find, if you take care of your outsides, it can do wonders for the insides. Why don’t you make yourself useful, and go pick out a clean outfit for him. Something comfortable, that doesn’t scream ‘convalescing waif.’” It looked like Alexander might protest, but The King grabbed him by the elbow, guided him to the door. 

“We will go together,” he said, smiled over at John on the bed. 

“Madame Healer?” Angelica asked, and Maria curtsied. “Can you see about getting a bath drawn for him? Assuming it’s safe?” 

“I think that can be arranged,” she said, curtsied again, and left as well. 

Angelica continued to work through the knots and snarls in John’s hair, grumbling under her breath, while her sisters watched her in silence. John wanted to say something-- thank you, don’t bother, you are too kind-- but her presence was intimidating and commanding and he could not find the right words. 

“Now that we are alone, speak freely sisters. How is his recovery really going?”

John tuned out their responses, as he often did, not wanting to hear about himself. Caught snippets of the conversations-- “guilty,” “painful,” “barely eating,” “The King.” None of it mattered. The feeling of her combing his hair was nice, he had to admit, and was lulling him into a bit of a sleepy trance. 

The bath came first. Servants lugged in a giant wash tub, carted pitcher after pitcher of boiling water from hearth. When Alexander and the King returned with an outfit, she fired questions at them about “piped in water” and then sent them away, saying that John needed privacy during his bath. John was grateful, knew that if he was nude in front of either of them, he very well may collapse with lust, despite the presence of the ladies.

As it were, he was shunted into the bath by Angelica with little comment or fanfare. She bathed him with the same amount of affection one might bathe a child. There was nothing sensual or strange in her touch, she carried on her conversation but made sure he was clean. She was gentle but brisk. Peggy took care of his hair, scrubbing his scalp with a fresh smelling shampoo, then combing through a silky balm that she let sit for a bit before rinsing clean. John caught sight of his reflection in the silver of one of the domed plate covers, surprised to see his ringlets already taking shape before drying. 

“How do you feel?” Angelica asked as he toweled off. Eliza offered him the outfit they had brought him-- a dark gray tunic and loose fitting black trousers. He stepped into the clothes. They carried the scent of the inner chamber, and the memories almost knocked him over. 

“Better,” he said, and he wasn’t lying. Despite the tug of memories, the feeling of his clean skin, the sight of his drying curls, the return of familiar fabrics against his flesh, he felt almost normal. 

For that, he was grateful. 

***

Angelica set a new rhythm to the days. Her presence invigorated everyone, particularly her sisters. Every morning after breakfast, one of the princesses would make sure that his hair was combed. He bathed every other day. He wore clean, comfortable clothing, some from the inner chamber, some new garments Angelica had the royal tailor make for him. 

After breakfast, Maria would check him over, talk through his symptoms. Then, she would disappear until supper. John wasn’t sure where she went. Eliza and Peggy would trade off spending time with him. Eliza would read and talk to him. She even tried to coax him to draw in a sketchbook she brought for him, but John felt no desire to create. What would he draw? These four walls? The Prince? 

Like Maria, Alexander and The King spent many hours away from the room. He saw them in glimpses and flashes. Supper. Right before bed. Their voices on the other side of the door. A few times John swore in the wee hours of the morning, he saw the King in the door, or sitting in the chair bedside, but he was never there when he woke properly.

Today was Peggy’s turn to sit with John. She was less inclined to read to him, more about talking, joking, bringing gossip and news. Today she walked in with a purpose. She was dressed in a short tunic and leggings, belted at the waist, her hair up. She snapped the blanket off of him and the bed. 

“Get up!” she said brightly. 

“I am awake,” John said slowly. 

“Right, I mean. Out of bed.” 

He glanced at Maria, who looked over at Eliza. “Has Laf authorized this?” Eliza asked. 

Peggy shrugged. “He’s not here, is he?” She feigned looking around the small room. “I do not think he would object to John learning a few basic combat moves.” She folded her arms, cocked her easy smile. Looked at John. “Maria and I were talking, and she thinks you are physically in a good enough place for such a task.”

John didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he did not have permission for any of this. 

On the other--

“I do not think Lafayette would approve,” Eliza said. 

“He’s not here,” John said, resigned. Sat up, swung his legs over the bed. Stood. “He doesn’t care what I do. He’s never here.” 

“He does care, Jack,” Eliza countered, his nickname falling easily from her lips. It warmed him, briefly. “He and Alexander have been spending this time searching for a cure, interviewing chemists, healers, even the prince. It has been laborious, but…”

“But he’s still not here,” Peggy concluded. She assumed a combat stance. “I think some self defense is in order, yes?”

John nodded, copied her stance. “I’m ready.”

***

It had been another day of dead ends. Books in the library, interviews with healers, discussions with potion brewers and pharmacists, even a strange conversation with someone Lafayette suspected was a witch but Maria just called “grandmother” yielded nothing. Questioning Thomas’s accomplices was even more frustrating. Most opted for silence. Burr refused to discuss anything with them unless he could see his daughter, and that was out of the question. 

And Thomas himself? 

Speaking to his brother was like trying a solve an unsolvable puzzle. A wizard’s riddle. Thomas spoke to him in a combination of codes, insults, memories and questions. Not only did the conversation prove worthless, speaking to his brother made him angry, blindingly so, especially when he turned the conversation to John. 

“How is my little pet doing?” Thomas asked, his voice oily, caressing every word. He sat on his bed in his cell as if seated on a throne, smiled calmly through the bars. The smile did not reach his eyes. 

“We are not here to talk about him,” Lafayette replied, his own voice as calm as he could keep it.

“Oh but you are!” Thomas had chortled. “You are here again to ask me about the antidote! Have you ever considered, dear brother, that there is no antidote for his affliction? That he is in his most natural, truest state?” He leveled his gaze, licked his lips. Beside him, Lafayette heard and felt Alexander shudder. “Bring him to me, brother. I will show you.”

“This continues to go nowhere,” Alexander whispered. “Please, let’s leave.” Alexander rarely actually asked for anything of him, so Lafayette obliged. If he was being honest, he dreaded these moments. Just him and Alexander, walking from one dead end to another, the silence between them tense and cold. Alexander had made it clear, through actions rather than words, that whatever had been between the two of them before was now gone. And while Lafayette mourned the loss of that sexual, emotional and romantic intimacy, he cared too much about Alexander to push the matter. And, no matter how ugly it sounded in his head, it was almost a relief. He could then focus fully on his John without a shred of guilt. 

“My apologies,” Alexander said as they started up the staircase to John’s room. “I find these days he gets to me less and less, but sometimes…” He trailed off, refused to look at Lafayette.

“No need to explain, Alexander.” 

Which he did not elaborate. 

Once they reached the door to John’s room, the first thing Lafayette noticed was the voices inside, sounding louder. Excited. He exchanged a confused look with Alexander before pushing open the door. 

As they entered, a scene the King was not prepared to see unfolded before his eyes. 

John, out of bed. Rushing at Peggy almost at a full run. It happened in a blurry second. Lafayette didn’t even catch the move she did, but whatever it was had John flipped in the air and landed on his back with a thud. Maria winced, Eliza flinched, Angelica stifled a laugh. Panting, Peggy looked down at John on the floor. 

He burst into laughter. 

“See, sis, he’s fine,” Peggy said, went to offer her hand to John. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Lafayette bellowed, his voice bouncing around the room. “Maria! Princesses! How, what is…” He was at a loss for words. 

They all started to talk at once, but the conversation died almost as quickly as it started, when John’s voice rang above the fray. 

“I’m sorry, your highness,” he cried. As quick as the laughter came, it died, and in its place the sting of tears. He would not look at Lafayette, but he scrambled from the floor, to his knees, planted his palms in front of him. 

Like he was begging.

“Forgive me, it was my fault, not Peggy’s, don’t...don’t be mad…”

“No one is mad, Jack,” Eliza said softly, and Alexander glared at her, rushed to his side. 

“Are you ok?” Alexander asked, looking over John for any injuries. John nodded, bit his lip. 

“What part of his care plan included hand to hand combat?” Lafayette asked, shooting the question at Maria. 

“He’s healing quite well, I thought some physical activity would be good,” she explained. “I did not, however, consider that he might be flipped midair, but…”

“Sink or swim,” Peggy said so casually, Lafayette almost lost his temper. “I believe in diving in head first, and some basic self defense--”

“Is completely uncalled for at the present time,” Lafayette finished. “He is fragile, and he’s healing and--”

“Not made of glass!” It was Alexander’s turn to interrupt, his arm looped over John’s shoulders, glaring up at the King. “Sure, it might have been extreme, but Laf, he was laughing… I haven’t heard that since…” The word hung in the air. 

“He could have been seriously hurt!” Lafayette countered.

“But he wasn’t.”

Lafayette sighed, looked over at the ladies, all watching in calm fascination. “Princesses. Maria. If I could have a word alone with Alexander and John. If you please.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Peggy asked pointedly. “We haven’t found a cure.”

“If you please,” he repeated. Gestured at the door. 

The ladies took their leave. 

“Here, Alexander. Help me get him into bed,” Lafayette said gently. He knew it was risky but he needed to be alone with them, particularly John. He needed it. 

Even if just for a few minutes.


	13. Chapter 13

“Are you sure you are not hurt?” The King directed the question at him, but John did not know how to answer. He was hurt. He could feel the bruise blooming on his backside where he landed. But that didn’t matter, not really. It had felt good to be out of bed, on his feet. To have someone treat him like he wasn’t in immediate danger of breaKing. The whoosh of adrenaline that came from the spar with Peggy had clouded all other internal battles, had made the itch inside him fade, even just for a few short minutes. But now The King was here, and he was upset that John had disobeyed, and the last thing he wanted was to make matters worse. So John just bit his lip, shook his head, averted his eyes. 

“He’s fine Laf, stop fussing,” Alexander scoffed. Poured himself a cup of tea from the pot that sat on the breakfast table, left over from the last meal. Joined them in the bed, on John’s other side. 

“I am unclear how you are able to have witnessed the same scene, Alexander, and yet react so calmly!” The King replied. 

Alexander sipped his tea, shrugged. Looped his arm around John’s shoulder loosely. John tensed at the contact. “Not only did he seem to escape any lasting injury, Laf, but he was smiling. Laughing. It’s been months. Months!” His face broke into a smile around the rim of the tea cup. “It’s clearly good for him. I think Princess Peggy should continue his training.”

“Absolutely not,” The King said firmly. Took John’s hand in his own, stared at the back of it, as if studying the sight of it. The contrast of their skin tones. The strangeness. “Maybe in a few months, when he’s healed.”

“Look at him, Laf! Physically he’s--”

The King sat up and turned to look at Alexander so quickly that his movement created a breeze around them, his cloak snapping over his arm. “Was it not you who told me of every injury, every hurt, every single act of violence he has sustained over the past few months? You have reminded me, in painstaKing detail, of his ordeal! The only way he will heal is rest and care, and an antidote for the poison. Until then, we must take every precaution we can to ensure his safety and recovery.”

The harsh tone The King used seemed to spark something in Alexander, and he flipped from cheerful and almost blase to sharp and angry instantly. 

“Say what you mean, your majesty,” he seethed, words as cold as ice. He squeezed John closer. “You have simply traded a cage for a bed, Thomas’s manor for a palace tower. He is your prisoner as much as he was your brother's, and you can’t stand the very idea of him having even a speck of freedom.” 

There was an odd, long moment where it seemed like The King might actually forget himself and strike Alexander, and John did not know what to do. What to say. He didn’t feel like a prisoner, The King wanted what was best for him, and he deserved to be kept and locked away from normal people. He was dirty, he was bad, and he needed to be kept hidden. That was ok. He just did not want anyone angry, not at him and especially not at each other. 

John shifted, kept himself between the other two men, who were eyeing each other with the distrustful stare of two pacing lions. The words died on his lips, telling them not to fight, to not worry, to not allow themselves such rage with him in the center, it wasn’t worth it, he wasn’t worth it. 

The King opened his mouth to respond to Alexander’s accusation, but before he could speak, John did what he thought might, or could, shift the mood. 

In a moment of perfect clarity, he leaned up, pressed his lips to the King’s. Kissed him with a ferocity that he hoped would make everything better, the fight and his disobedience and their anger. Even for the moment his sickness was at bay, that he didn’t feel the sweep and the pull of the hunger in his groin. 

At least for those first few moments. 

The King pulled away, broke the kiss. “John, my little one--” 

“It’s ok, I’m ok,” John whispered. Dove back in for another kiss, tugging at Alexander’s hand to come closer. Alexander, who was strangely silent. He kissed the King, who kissed him back, who pulled him closer into his lap. This time when they parted, he watched in a confused flurry of emotions as John dragged in Alexander for a kiss. The next few moments unfolded in a storm of hands and lips, of Alexander scooching closer, The King holding him, of their breath and no words, of being passed between them, the kisses growing hungrier, needier--

One broken word. 

“Please,” John whispered. 

His voice broke the spell. The King and Alexander looked at each other, as if coming to their senses. Had a wordless conversation. 

“My baby, we cannot do this,” The King said firmly. Picked John up gently, set him on the bed. Stood up, smoothed his clothing. 

“He’s right,” Alexander said, kissed the back of John’s hand, and also went to stand. The panic rose in John’s throat. What went wrong? They seemed ready, he was ok, he could do this, he could control it. 

He started to weep, openly. “Please. Please. I need it. I promise, it will be good, I’ll make it so good for you both, I don’t want you to fight, just… Please, share me, please. Please!”

Their exact answers did not matter. What words they used. No, no, no. Not today. Not now. No, John, you’re not well. We can’t. It will feel good, I will feel so good, just this once. We can. Please. God, it’s hard to hear him beg. I can’t take this. Is it because I’m ugly? I’m bad? Can I see the prince? No, not him. Never. He can never hurt you again, John. I’m sorry, sorry, we can’t we just can’t.

As quick as they had started fighting, they were reunited in their efforts to rebuke John. They tucked him back into bed, ignored his begging, his shaKing, his tears. They called for Maria and Eliza. I’m so sorry to bother you both, I thought we could handle him. It’s too hard, it’s too much. 

Someone dabbed the sweat from his brow. Someone else held a spoon of cherry flavored liquid to his lips, coaxed him to drink. 

Perhaps he could sleep. 

Perhaps this time he would not wake. 

***

“He’s asleep.” Eliza let the door shut behind her softly, regarded Alexander and Lafayette with her gaze. Her eyes seemed the only part of her to reveal her exhaustion, and she smiled at them to hide it further. Such a gesture took Alexander aback. 

“Thank you, Princess,” Lafayette said. 

“It was nothing, of course. Maria is with him now. Are both of you alright?”

Lafayette offered some bland explanation, more white lies falling easily from his lips. Guarding his truths, all to spare their feelings. It all made Alexander want to scream. Nothing was alright. Everything was wrong, and it seemed useless to hide that. At least actively. 

So Alexander said nothing in retort, made his excuses and left them in the tower, headed to the library on the other side of the palace. These days he spent a good amount of his waKing time here. He scoured every book he could find on potions, poisons, and elixirs, trying to find anything that might lead them to a cure for John. After scores of books, there had been nothing, but he held out hope.

An hour passed. Two. Book after book. No clues, no answers, no direction. Nothing. The words began to blur together to more Alexander read. The leather journal next to him lay open and blank; after all there was nothing to note. Sometime during hour three, he slammed the latest dead end of book shut, pushed the pile to the side. Picked up his journal, his quill. 

Headed to the dungeons. 

Since their rescue, he had not confronted Thomas alone. He knew the real Thomas perhaps better than anyone else, and if he could speak to him alone, just the two of them, he might be able to unravel a bit of the puzzle. At any rate, it was worth a try.

However, just as he was about to turn the corner at the foot of the staircase, he heard voices. 

“You continue to ask the wrong questions, Princess,” Thomas said silkily. “As I have expressed many times, to many other people. I have done nothing out of the ordinary to that whore, simply used him to his fullest potential. I cannot be held accountable for any adverse side effects such treatment caused.”

Even though he knew it was sneaky, Alexander froze in his tracks. Stood stock still next to the wall, did not round the corner. Waited. Listened. 

“May I ask what you get out of this?” Eliza’s voice, unwavering, clear as a bell. 

Shocked, Alexander inhaled. Held the breath as he awaited Thomas’s answer.

“Just something to pass the time. Tell me, Princess. We have similar circumstances around our births, do we not?” 

“And our similarities end there,” she replied, just the edges of iciness creeping into her voice. 

“But of course, your highness. But you mean to tell me you never once felt you too deserved the same toys as your sisters?” He chuckled. “And this toy was particularly shiny. Can you blame me?” 

“Again, my relationship with my sisters has little bearing on the matter at hand,” she continued. “I know that deep down, you realize how much Lafayette loved you. Loves you. Can you not see that? Can you not put aside your anger at your father, and give your brother this?”

Such a declaration got the better of Alex’s curiosity. He peered around the wall. Saw the dark gloss of Eliza’s hair. Her proud posture. Over her shoulder, Thomas’s face, regarding her through the cell’s bars. And perhaps in the muted light of the candles on the wall, the dark of shadows, Alexander saw something flash across Thomas’s face. A flicker of regret. The smallest glance of understanding. Surprise. Hidden pain. Some sort of unexpected emotion. 

Or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. 

Alex disappeared back behind the wall, before Thomas spotted him. Waited with bated breath for the confession, the admission, some semblance of emotion or truth. 

But Thomas just laughed again, as if Eliza had told a funny joke. Alexander clutched his journal, willed himself not to reveal his presence. Had to physically fight the urge to jump in, demand answers, tell Eliza to stop meddling and Thomas to stop lying and--

But she wasn’t meddling. Not exactly. She merely had the same exact idea as him, and was trying to get answers. And the thought of such a thing, of Eliza in her blue gowns, her heart shaped face and kind voice and small hands, standing in front of Thomas, calmly seeKing answers. 

Well, that thought warmed him from the inside. Not only did he admire such a thing, but he couldn’t help but feel a tenderness towards anyone who wanted to help John. His John, the first person he had ever fell in love with. And this was genuine, not an empty gesture.

Alexander was so lost in his thoughts, he missed what Thomas said next, but he could not shut out Eliza’s reply even if he tried. 

“Save your lies, Thomas,” she said. Voice sharp like a sword. “I don’t need your help. You want to continue your twisted games? Fine. I am confident we will find the antidote ourselves, and once we do, John can truly heal. He will heal, Alexander will heal, your brother will heal. They will heal and thrive and go on to live happy lives, full of love.”

“What a charming picture, Princess.”

“And you? You will be nothing but a bad memory, which will fade with time. I promise you that. And I am very, very good at keeping my promises.” 

If Eliza’s speech had any affect on Thomas, there was no indication, because his response was more laughter. The rustling of her skirts alerted Alexander that she was exiting, walKing straight towards the stairs. 

While he still had to digest the exchange and exactly how he felt about it, he did know with full certainty that he did not want Eliza to discover his eavesdropping. So, with as much silence and swiftness that he could muster, he bounded back up the stairs and down the hall, clutching his journal to his chest. 

Not sure where to go until supper, he wandered the back halls of the palace. Wanting desperately to wait to really think about what he just overheard. 

Found himself unable to think of anything else. 

***

John woke up from his most recent nap in a fog, the flavor of cherries on his tongue. He opened his eyes, bracing himself to see the worried eyes of The King, Alexander’s frustrated grimace, or Eliza’s watchful and patient gaze. Instead, he was greeted by Peggy just inches away from his face, staring at him expectantly.

“Finally!” she sighed, exasperated, but a grin spread across her face. “You’re awake!”

“Mmmph,” John groaned, his eyelids fluttered. 

“I have something for you,” she continued, sitting up and looKing suddenly sheepish. “An apology gift. For knocKing you on your bottom, earlier.”

This had John’s interest, even though he felt bad almost instantly. “There is no need for an apology, Peggy,” he said. “I wasn’t hurt.”

“Right. Still.” She fumbled with something behind her back, where John could not see. He still felt more or less foggy from his drugged sleep, but he was interested in what she had. “She needs a home, anyway.” 

She?

Without fanfare, Peggy dumped something right into his lap. A fuzzy grey and white something. 

“A kitten?” The kitten peered up at him, her blue eyes almost piercing against her dark grey fur. “Oh! Oh… She’s so tiny!” John watched in delight as the kitten pawed at the fabric of his tunic, her little white feet giving her the appearance of wearing socks. She made a small sound that sounded like “merp!” and John instantly found her head with his hand, scratched her ears until she starting purring. “What’s her name?”

Peggy shrugged, flopped down. “Dunno. You’ll have to give her one.”

“I get to name her?” John asked softly. The kitten blinked, started to doze off in his lap. 

“Yeah, silly goose. She’s yours.”

“Mine?” John asked skeptically. He hadn’t taken care of an animal in ages. These days, he could hardly care for himself. “Is it permitted?”

“Who knows. Who cares!” She smiled. “She likes you.” 

“I’ll have to think of a good name.”

Peggy leaned back in her chair, propped her booted feet on John’s bed. She was still in her training garb. “How about Killer?” 

John shook his head. Stared down at his kitten, a strange feeling in his chest taKing root. A feeling of warmth and affection he hadn’t felt in months. It made him feel funny. This sweet small animal dozing in his lap, innocent and carefree and tiny. And she was his!

And that was how Eliza and Alexander found them, Peggy lounging and suggesting names, John rejecting them. 

“Spike. Midnight. Bruiser. Stormy.” 

“What in the world?” Alexander asked. “Is that a cat?” A note of trepidation crept into his voice. 

“Yup,” Peggy said. 

“Where did it come from?” 

“She,” John corrected. “Peggy gave her to me.”

“Oh god, don’t tell me you hate cats too,” Peggy said. 

“Did Maria or The King authorize this?” Eliza cut in, looKing anxious. 

“I don’t _hate_ cats. I just don’t see their point. A dog can hunt or protect. A bird can sing. Farm animals provide food and raw goods. But a cat… A cat just lays there.” 

“They didn’t but what does it matter? It’s just a kitten.”

“I’m keeping her,” John said firmly. “I just need to name her.”

He would think of something.

***

After supper. The room dim with candlelight. John had requested a dish of cream and some cut up chicken for the kitten. He watched her in fascination as she lapped at the cream. He fed her right on the bed, despite everyone telling him she could eat her supper on the floor. 

“I have to make sure she eats,” John said softly. He also liked the sight of her little pink tongue in the dish of cream, how she danitly licked her paws after finishing a shred of chicken. 

There had not been any sort of disagreement over the kitten. In fact, as soon as the King entered the chambers, and remarked “Where did she come from him?” Alexander shot to his defense. 

“He’s keeping her,” he said swiftly, as if The King were below him and took orders. The King just looked weary. 

“I said nothing to the contrary, Alexander,” he replied. He sounded tired. And sad. “As long as Maria has no objections.”

“None, your majesty,” she chimed from the corner. She already inspected the animal when she arrived earlier, found no fleas or evidence of worms or germs. “In fact, I think she could be great for morale.” Maria exchanged a soft smile with Peggy, who blushed under her gaze. “A fine idea, if you ask me.” 

“Splendid,” The King said. Distant. Exhausted. 

“I’m still trying to think of a name.” 

“Shouldn’t be too challenging,” Eliza said. “After all, you gave your turtles such creative names.”

“Thank you.” John pouted. “I miss them.” 

“I told you,” Alexander said. “They are fine. As soon as you are cured, you can go see for yourself.” 

“I know.” John was distracted by the kitten yawning. Her teeth like pinpoints. 

“Fang?” Peggy suggested hopefully.

“Sister, why must you insist on such out of character names?” Eliza giggled. “She is not a brute! She deserves a name like… Like…”

“Like?”

“Like Winifred. Or Chamilia. Prudence. Priscilla.” 

Peggy made a retching sound in response.

“Oh, those are lovely names. I sincerely hope for any of your future offspring’s sake that you do not have sole power of naming them.”

“And I _hope_ , for you future children’s sake--

John interrupted their banter. “That’s it,” he declared. 

“Oh, not Priscilla, please,” Peggy moaned. 

“No,” John giggled. “Hope.” As he said it, he glanced at the King. Shy. Wished the two of them could be alone. Wanted him to hear it, to understand. To read the contents of his heart. He hated feeling this far from him, even though they were in the same room. 

The King’s face was unreadable. As if an ocean lay between them. 

Alexander broke the silence. At least Alexander could stand to touch him, to sit next to him in bed, as long as they weren’t alone. He used one finger to rub under Hope’s chin, already starting to fall back asleep on John’s chest. “A little cliched,” he noted. “But a fine name.”

“As fine as Prudence?” Peggy asked sarcastically. 

“I mean, Eliza’s taste in names is lovely,” Alexander continued. “If you are looKing to name someone’s grandmother.” His eyes danced with laughter and a smile tugged at his lips. The flirtatious, teasing, witty Alexander that John knew so well. Even Eliza was charmed by him, and she laughed with good nature at his teasing, after they exchanged a look. As if they had a secret. This puzzled John, but also warmed him. 

“Seeing as our grandmama is named Cornelia,” Eliza said. 

“I changed my mind,” John said softly. “Let’s call her that.” It took the room a second to catch on that he was maKing a joke, no matter how feeble it came off. 

Everyone but the King laughed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delayed update. celebrating valentines day with two different partners then a migraine this weekend.

Three more days. Time behaved funny in the tower. It was a fragile, nebulous thing. The hours were long, the night even longer, but then he overheard a hushed conversation. 

“It’s been six weeks, Liza.” Peggy’s voice, drifting through the door. “Surely, they should have a cure by now.”

Six weeks. It had flown by. Yet, each hour, each minute seemed to drag. At least with Hope in the room with him, the days went by a little faster. She needed her litter box cleaned. She needed to be fed. She needed him to dangle string for her to chase. And she needed him to pet her, take naps with her. He slept best these days with Hope curled in the crook of his neck and shoulder, purring loudly in his ear, her cold little nose pressed against his cheek. 

Sometimes, she preferred to curl up in the darker corner of the room, her face in her paws. 

Today was one of those days. 

Which was fine by John, for a change. As much as he loved her, today was a more difficult day, and his body was responding in kind. He felt shaky and weak and the thrum in his groin was a horrible distraction. It was a strange moment where he was truly alone. No Peggy, no Eliza, no Maria, no Alexander, no King. Alone. 

When he had lived with the Prince, he knew touching himself was never permitted. That’s why the guards made sure his hands were cuffed when he was alone in the cage. But here he had no cuffs. No one here said he couldn’t in the tower. Something in his heart told him that if he was discovered, the other party might be upset, but the siren song in his blood was too loud to ignore. 

Quietly, softly, he pushed the blankets away. Let his hand drift between his own legs. Heat. Shimmied out of his cotton pants, took his own hardened cock in hand. A few strokes to take the edge off was a good place to start. His eyes floated shut, and he succumbed to the relief flooding through him, the delicious friction of his own hand. An itch that had been waiting far too long to be scratched--

“John?”

He sat up quickly, yanking the blanket back over him. But instead of being met with rebuke or scolding, Alexander came to the bed, crawled in next to him. 

The door was shut. 

They were alone. 

Alexander looped an arm around his shoulder, kissed the top of his head. “What do you need?” he whispered, his voice infinitely gentle. John trembled. 

“I’m sorry--” he mumbled, his cheeks hot with embarrassment. “I didn’t, I didn’t--”

“Jack, it’s ok,” Alexander assured him. Set his hand over John’s where it still sat on his bare thigh. “What do you need?” he repeated. 

There was no time to think. No time, nor any need. Alexander was here, his hand was on him, touching him, and the fire in John’s blood roared. He needed him, he needed him like a bird needed to soar. And that was how he felt, his beloved Alexander this close to him, smelling like the inner chamber (home) and every precious memory he thought he lost. John knew it was bad and it was wrong and he was dirty and the King might be angry but none of that mattered. The blood roared in his ears. 

They fell into each other’s arms. 

Alexander grabbed at him, pulled him close. Was this ok? Jack, are you ok, tell me this is ok. Help me, please. It hurts. I need you. I need you. Hands on his thighs, on his hips. Their lips crashed. Hands in his hair. Fingers tangled in the curls. Their bodies moving together. So close. Please. I want to feel you inside me. God, please. 

“I can’t,” Alexander whispered, his voice wet against John’s ear. “I’m not ready.” John wanted to cry, but he thought he understood. Besides, he didn’t deserve it. That didn’t matter though, because under the blanket Alexander was touching him, his hand moving gently, holding him firmly, working, making him cry out, kissing his shoulder, his touch like sunlight on his face in the morning. New and perfect and everything he needed in that second. 

The door slammed open. 

“Alexander!” Sharp. The King. 

John jolted as if Alex’s touch burned him, shame coloring his cheeks and the King looked at them on the bed. Alex sat up quickly, his eyes narrowing. 

“What are--”

“Don’t be thick,” Alex snapped. Clipped. He grabbed John around the waist, glared at the King. “Laf, he needs it. Please.” The anger was gone. All business. Short and cold. With both of them there, with Alex’s hands still on his body, John trembled. 

“Get up,” the King ordered. 

“But--”

“I said get up, Alexander.” 

“Laf. He needs it. I’m helping him.”

“He cannot consent--” 

“Like hell he can’t!”

In the midst of their argument, Alexander had gotten up, had untangled himself from the sheets and from John and stood toe to toe with the King. It was unfolding so fast. From being touched tenderly to watching them argue, John felt like he had been overcome with a fever. Bathed in ice water. 

“How could he consent in this state, Alexander?”

“I can tell, Lafayette, I can tell, trust me, he needs this, I can help him.”

A storm cloud seemed to pass over the King’s face. “I forbid it,” he said softly. 

An equally cold look overcame Alexander. The room felt chilled. “You cannot do such a thing.” 

The King took two steps. Placed himself between Alexander and the bed. “Do not touch him, Alexander. I forbid it.” 

“He is not...your property,” Alexander snarled, his lip curling. John wanted to cower. Wanted to hide. Wanted to dive under the blankets and never emerge. Wanted the darkness to swallow him. Wanted all of this to end. Wished he was no longer here. Anywhere but here. In the dark. Alone. No longer.

“I forbid it,” the King repeated. Icy. 

For the first time in recent memory, Alexander was stunned speechless. He opened and closed his mouth a few times silently. Shot a longing, painful look at John, laying on the bed. Empty. Pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and stormed from the room.

John wished he could call out for him. The King stood there, looking just as lost as he felt. 

More silence. 

It never ended.

***

The tears fell thick and fast. Alexander did not even have the strength nor the time to wipe them from his cheeks. His vision blurred, but he knew the way to the inner chamber by heart. Down the tower’s staircase, through the main hall. Left, right, another left. Through a set of doors. 

The inner chamber was dark and empty. Alexander had been sleeping in here since their rescue. His bedroom had been untouched, and even though the last few months before being kidnapped he had been sharing the King’s bed with John, he returned to his private bedchambers. Alone. It seemed best. He did not know where the King slept these days, but he had been left blessedly alone every night. 

Now was no different. 

He didn't even bother lighting a candle. As soon as the thick door shut behind him, he let out a cry of rage, slammed his fists on the dining table, making the vase of fresh flowers shake. A wave of revulsion and blood-chilling anger rushed through him, so full it frightened him. Why couldn’t Lafayette see the pain John was in? Why did he always have to interfere?

“He had no right, no right,” Alexander rambled, beginning to pace the length of the room. The King had no idea, not even the first clue what they had been through, and if he thought he was doing John a favor making him suffer, he was crueler than his brother--

The very thought stopped Alexander in his tracks. 

Mentally, he went to take the thought back. Lafayette, with all this faults and imperfections, was nothing like his brother, nothing--

_He traded a cage for a bed. These rooms. The manor. The tower. It’s all the same, all the same, he doesn’t love, he just owns, controls, forbids and orders._

Alexander shook his head as if to clear it, resumed his pacing of the sitting room, his brain buzzing with all sorts of conflicting and mutinous thoughts. The King was wrong. John needed him. The prince and the King, two sides of the same coin. The tower. The chamber. The cage. The library. A maze in his mind, and he was rushing through the darkness, every twist and corner a carnival mirror. 

The inner chamber had no windows. 

Outside, the sky turned purple with clouds. 


	15. Chapter 15

Lafayette had gotten John to quiet down, but he hardly seemed calm. Tortured would be the word he would use, if prompted. Yes he lay still, but his chest rose and fell heavily as if laboring to breathe. His eyes were wide with panic. He looked pale and peaked and small in the bed. 

“My love, can I get you anything?” Lafayette asked, pulling the blanket under John’s chin. “Shall I bring you Hope, to lay in your lap?” 

John blinked. Vacant. “No,” he whispered. “No. Dirty. Bad. Let her sleep.” 

“Something to eat, then? Or drink?” 

John shook his head. Lafayette leaned in to adjust the blanket, just to give his hands something to do, but John recoiled from his touch, flinched as if he were expecting a blow. 

“Darling--” 

“Don’t,” John stammered. “Please, your highness, don’t touch me… It hurts, it’s too much, it’s--” He burst into tears. 

Seeing his beloved fevered and in tears sent Lafayette into a panic, desperate for anything to make it better. He looked around the room, at the healer’s table cluttered with unidentified potions, at the strange books, at Hope the kitten curled up in the corner, watching them with a look of feline confusion. There was nothing, he felt helpless, and was on the verge of sending for Maria to at least give John a calming draught, when the door opened. 

“Is everything ok? I just saw Alexander bolting down the stairs, running as if the devil were at his heels.” Eliza took in the sight of the room, of Lafayette looking helpless and confused, of John crying silently on the bed. 

“We had a disagreement,” Lafayette said delicately. “And John is having an episode.”

Eliza’s nose crinkled as she thought. “May I be of any assistance?” 

Shoulders and heart heavy, Lafayette nodded. Once upon a time, he was all John ever needed. He could provide every comfort, meet every need, take care of John. Cherish him. Now his very touch, his presence was enough to make John recoil in horror. 

“Please,” he said softly. 

He watched in partial sadness, partial awe as Eliza swept into the room. Scooped Hope under her arm, tucked the kitten against John’s chest. Dabbed his sweaty, tear-stained face with a cool cloth. Directed Lafayette to pour a mug of lukewarm tea, add three drops of a dark red potion from the tallest beaker. Fluffled John’s pillow, then pulled up a chair next to the bed, opened the book on the side table. 

“Drink, Jack,” she prompted, and Lafayette offered the mug of tea to John. As he sipped the drink, the King took a step back. 

“Oh no, not there Laf,” Eliza said, shaking her head. “In the bed, if you please.” When the King went to object, she held up her hand. “I know what you will say, but I am here, there will be no...shenanigans. I promise. The contact is good for him.” 

As instructed, Lafayette climbed into bed with John, sliding his boots off, slinging an arm around John’s shoulders. He leaned into the warmth, sipped his tea, looked at Eliza expectantly. 

“Where were we?” she asked softly, rifling through the pages. 

“The knight just followed the dragon, watched it transform into a maiden under the moonlight,” John chirped. 

“Of course.” She began to read, John’s eyes on her, Lafayette’s eyes on John. Watched him sip his tea, scratch his kitten under the chin. Laid his head on Lafayette’s shoulder. Eliza’s voice filling the room, like a calming draught all its own. 

***

Alexander stood in the doorway to the garden. His thoughts still rushed like a river, but outside smelled like rain. The light was gray. The leaves of the bushes quivered in the wind. Cold air drafting down from the sky. 

The garden darkened. 

The sky went steel. 

In the distance, the slightest rumble of thunder.

*** 

Eliza paused her reading as thunder rattled the tower window. A giant crack of it, followed by a flash of lightning. The storm bloomed outside the palace. The sky unfolded. More wind, the rush of rain, another crash of thunder. 

John’s eyes grew wide with fear. 

“Jack, it’s just a storm, you’re safe,” Eliza said soothingly while Lafayette held him close. 

“No… no, not me….” John spared a glance out the window as the rain lashed against the pane. “Alex.” 

Eliza looked confused, but Lafayette, hearing the concern in his beloved’s voice, actually felt he could be useful here. This, he knew. “Alexander has some trauma triggered by storms,” he explained. 

“He needs me,” John fretted, his hands flexing in the blanket nervously. “He needs me, he needs you, he needs us, your highness--”

“My darling, you are not well enough to leave the room.” 

“Then you go,” John implored, gesturing at the door. “Go to him, you know what to do, do you not?” 

How could he? Not after Alexander fled from the room, their own disagreements a tangled ball of wire and pain between them. 

“I fear I will make matters worse,” Lafayette said simply, looking at the storm nervously. It was a bad one, an early spring thunderstorm that traveled in from the coast. Cold and wet and violent. 

John’s eyes darted from the window, to his hand, to the floor. Alexander was alone, he was scared, the storm was loud. It was too much, too much, he was useless, the King couldn’t--

“Would it be overstepping if I offered to check on him?” Eliza asked. She had her thumb tucked into the book, holding their place. 

Lafayette seemed to mull this over while John looked at her with shining eyes. “You’d do that?” he whispered.

“Of course. If you tell me what I need to do,” Eliza said. Set the book on the bedside table. 

In a hushed voice, John told her what to do. 

Outside, the storm roared.


	16. Chapter 16

Eliza paused for a moment outside the inner chamber. She had an unusual feeling, one that stuck in her heart like the barb of a pod from a sweetgum tree. Unsettled. Nothing bad, not exactly. Just the unshakable, uneasy feeling that there was no turning back from this point. That something unspoken would be forever altered the moment she stepped through those doors. 

John’s instructions had been simple enough. Find Alexander in the chambers. He should be wrapped in a blanket. Sit next to him on the divan. Read to him, something lighthearted. Physical contact would be comforting. Yet, even approaching this with a meticulous, caretaking purpose, it felt so very...intimate. 

She went to knock, but thought better of it. There would be no hearing it over the thunder. Skirts gathered in one hand, Eliza pushed open the door, stepped quitely inside. 

“Alexander?” she called, loud enough to be heard over the din, but keeping her voice calm. “John sent me down to check on you--” 

There came a sort of muffled, strangled cry, something between a greeting and a moan of pain, from the direction of the bedroom off the main chamber. All hesitation gone, Eliza made a beeline for the source of the sound. 

“Alexander!” she exclaimed, fell to a crouch. Huddled on the floor, his cloak pulled around his ears, trembling like a leaf on a tree. 

His dark eyes found hers. Looked through her. Past her. “Princess?” he whispered, weak and confused and soft. 

“Eliza,” she corrected automatically, rearranging her skirts to sit on the stone floor in front of him. For a moment, he looked completely ready to speak, almost normal, as if it were perfectly expected of a grown man and scholar to be hiding from a thunderstorm like a frightened child. But as he went to speak, another crash of thunder sounded, startling him. 

“John and Lafayette sent me,” she explained, hoping her words were reaching him. “They were both worried for your well being.” 

He licked his lips, nodded, but said nothing. 

“Do you perhaps want to go into the sitting room, join me on the sofa? John mentioned the book the two of you were reading before--” 

Another crack of thunder.

This time, instead of withdrawing, Alexander lurched forward, as if in reflex. Landed in Eliza’s arms and lap in a complicated heap, still shaking. It happened so abruptly, he landed gracelessly, face first into the bodice of her gown. 

Ignoring the initial awkward nature of their position, Eliza wrapped her arms around him, refused to allow the feeling of his ragged breath against her decolletage distract her from her mission: to nurture, to comfort, to befriend. 

“You are safe,” she murmured. Rubbed one hand between his shoulder blades. Holding him was so unlike John. While she loathed to compare, they were the only two men she had been in the position to physically comfort, so naturally a comparison arose. Where John was fragile and diminished, delicate and fine, Alexander felt more real. Substantial. A force temporarily incapacitated. Where John was all thin bones and angles, Alexander had a nice substance to him, was soft and warm almost to the point of being plush. Inviting. 

Briefly, Eliza wondered what it might feel like to curl up in his arms instead. Arms that had found their way around her waist, anchoring himself to her. The thought brought heat to her cheeks, made her suddenly feel shy. But another bang of thunder brought her right back to the present, away from such tantalizing thoughts. 

After a few moments, Alexander’s trembling subsided. He was still pale and jumpy, but slightly more in control. “Shall we relocate to the sitting room? John told me that being read to calms you.”

Another stiff nod. Alexander allowed Eliza to take him by the hand, lead him to the sitting room, the green leather couch near the bookshelf. “Shall I pick, or you?” 

Alexander gestured with a vacant, deliberate air which Eliza could not translate, so she took it upon herself to select a volume from the shelf with little discretion. It turned out to be a book of lighthearted poems, which was a nice salve against the moment, the thick air, the tense storm. Eliza quite liked the little stanzas, and read them aloud, unable to keep the smile from her voice.

“ _The sunlight on my face  
On the warmest spring day  
Could not compete with your grace  
Or the feeling I get when you stay--_”

From his blanket cocoon: “Drivel,” Alexander sniffed, interrupting her. 

“So you are listening,” she remarked, lowering the book. 

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled. “Did a school child write those?” 

“Oh, I think they are nice,” Eliza teased. “They are quite sweet.”

Alexander sat up a little straighter, regarded her. His black eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight. “The rhyme scheme is simple, the word choice boring, the subject matter cliched--”

With a little sass, Eliza snapped the book shut. “Not every written word must be of the highest quality, Alexander. Some things can be simple. Fun.” 

“You, of all people, would of course think that.”

Eliza was not sure whether or not to be insulted. “And whatever is that supposed to mean?” 

In his blanket, he shrugged. “You are a princess, yes? Born into privilege and power and riches. I am sure your life has been nothing but pleasantries. Simplicity. Much like that poem you just read.”

Despite her normal cadence of calm regard, his words struck something in her. Not just what he said, but because he said it. Her nostrils flared as she collected herself for her response. 

“You know nothing about my life,” she said softly. Her words steel. Instead of looKing diminished at her tone, Alexander appeared to perk up, much to her surprise. 

“And what if I wanted to know?”

“To know what?” 

He cocked his head. His eyes dark. Stared at her. Gaze softened. He touched her hand, where it lay on the book. “Everything.” 

His hand on hers. Their eyes locked. Outside, the storm roared. Alexander did not look the least bit frightened. He looked calm. Instead, Eliza felt the heat rush to her cheeks. Could not find her words. The way he had uttered that single word, it felt intimate. Like a caress. His eyes on her.

“Why are you here?” he asked, filling the silence. 

That, she could answer. “As I stated, Lafayette and John sent me down here to check on you.”

“You misunderstand. Not here, in this room. Why are you here? In his Kingdom? When you have a throne of your own?” His eyes searched her, and she felt as if she were a painting on a wall being examined. Or perhaps a poem to be read and reread… 

“I consider Lafayette a dear friend and want to be close to him for support.”

“Do not tell me you’re in love with him too.” He punctuated this with a cold laugh. “That would be a losing game, even for someone… like you.”

“I hold nothing but platonic love for the King,” she said simply. 

“Good, because he only has eyes for one person in this whole damned Kingdom.” He paused, yawned. 

“Are you jealous? Because, Alexander, I know he cares for you, deeply.”

Alex waved his hand carelessly, shook his head. “I am jealous, but not for the reasons you speak.”

“Then tell me,” Eliza prompted. Glad that his intensity had retreated momentarily. 

“You cannot imagine how painful falling in love with John was for me. Not only is he the consort of the King, he is loved so fiercely, by someone impossible to compete with.”

“It’s not--”

“Let me finish. In so many people’s eyes, Lafayette is perfect. Smart, handsome, kind. And while he is not perfect, the one thing he has always excelled at is loving John. Lafayette can give him the world. And I am a penniless peasant. A criminal.” He looked away. “Even when it turned out John returned my affections, Lafayette never cared for me. He tolerated me. He is...fond of me. As one is fond of a stray dog their child brings home. I am worried, Eliza. When John is better, he may have to choose between us. I do not think Lafayette will tolerate me forever. Hell, I do not know if I want to even stay here.” 

Thunder crashed at that moment, and Alexander flinched but did not panic.

“I love him so much. But my life would be so much simpler if I didn’t.”

Eliza waited to see if he had more to say. When he did not, she broke the silence. “Alexander. No one can help who they fall in love with.”

 

He looked up from his hands. 

This time when the thunder boomed, he only blinked.


	17. Chapter 17

Not much had changed in the half hour since Eliza had taken her leave to go check on Alexander. Lafayette had dutifully picked up the book of fairy stories, continued to read aloud, his voice just loud enough above the rain. It was actually pretty easy to forget about the storm, to focus on the words, the familiar story. John watched him eagerly, his eyes never leaving his face. It made the King nervous at first, as if his staring could lead to something untold, but the longer they sat, the more at ease he grew. John watched him while petting the kitten, whose purring could be heard over the rain and the reading. 

“I like this story,” John said softly when Lafayette reached the end of the chapter. “It’s nice.” 

Lafayette looked up from the page, daring a glance at his beloved. “Is that so?” He looked so fragile against the stack of pillows and the headboard, cuddled under the quilt, Hope snoozing on his shoulder. Despite looking diminished, it was the closest to normal he had appeared since his disappearance and rescue. While they had not completely faded, the dark circles under his eyes had lightened. HIs lips were no longer cracked from anxiety and dehydration. He was pale, but color of rose had returned to his cheeks. And while that ever present light in his eyes had dimmed, there was a spark… 

“What do you like about it, little one?” 

 

John played with the fabric of the quilt while he considered. “Well, it is interesting and there’s lots of...surprising plot points. I like that the nothing is what it truly seems. Quite different than most fairy tales.” 

“Indeed,” Lafayette agreed. Eager to keep John talking, greedy to hear every word from his mouth, his voice in his ears. Drinking from a cool, crisp river while parched. He could live and die in his beloved’s voice. He had squandered the hours before, when John spoke so freely in front of him. Now, he craved it…

“Do you think Alexander is alright?” he asked. “That Eliza found him?”

“I do. Surely, if he was not in the inner chamber she would have returned by now.”

“Alexander hates storms,” John said. Gazed out the window. “I feel awful that I cannot go to him.”

“I am sure he understands, my darling.”

John shrugged. “When we were at the manor, there were only a few storms.”

The hairs at the base of Lafayette’s neck stood on end. The manor. Thomas’s house. Their prison. This was the first time John had spoken of the place directly to him. Unwilling to break the spell, he sat silently. Listened. 

“Most of the storms happened in the day, when I was in my cage. I do not know who looked after him. But one storm….one was over night. I remember, the prince slept through most of it. I could hear Alexander in the bed. He was whimpering, talking to himself. I whispered to him, told him to join me on the floor. I could not hold him, but we could be close. He ignored me.” 

The anecdote felt like poison in Lafayette’s throat. He seized upon the little details that shattered his heart: John in his cage; Alexander whimpering in the dark. Both of his boys, in the same room, oceans apart. 

_Neither of them are yours anymore. _His inner voice sounded like Thomas, whispering to him, and that frightened him more than anything.__

__***_ _

__The storm could be forgotten when the King picked the book back up, but a particularly loud crack of thunder made both of them jump, sent Hope skittering under the healer’s table, where she often sought refuge._ _

__“That one startled even me,” the King said cheerfully. “I lost my place.”_ _

__John appreciated his attempt at a pleasant mood, but even in his weakened state, he could see past the mask. He knew the King better than anyone, could see the sadness in his eyes, the cloud of disgust when John spoke of the manor, of the prince._ _

__“Your highness,” he said. “You do not have to do this.”_ _

__“Do what, my darling? Read to you? Share your company?”_ _

__Tight-lipped, John stared down at his lap. “Doing this. Pretending.”_ _

__“I am not--have never--”_ _

__More than anything, the lies hurt. John knew, could feel his revulsion. How the King avoided his gaze and his touch. And he should; afterall he was unclean. Soiled. Ruined._ _

__“You don’t need to explain. Thomas...he told me. Loving me now, when I’ve been...I’m broken, and I hope that...soon, you can be free of me.” His voice cracked with guilt._ _

__“My baby, do not speak like this, I have nothing but love for you.”_ _

__“Stop...lying!” John did something he never did. He raised his voice. “I know the truth! I see it every time you look at me! You refuse to touch me, hate being alone with me, I am nothing but a burden! A ward! A blight on your reputation, your day, your life, your--” He choked, unable to continue ranting as a sob caught in his throat. He tried to swallow it back._ _

__When his outburst was met with silence, John lifted his eyes, dared a look at the King. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks._ _

__“This is not so, my love. This is just not so. I love you, I love you so much. Being near you when you are in this state is torture! I am sorry, John, so sorry. But how can I dare to touch you when your desires, your spirit has been twisted?”_ _

__This proclamation made John tremble. He did not know what to believe. The King’s words or his actions. Did he want him?_ _

__Instead of trying with words, which continued to fail him, John took the King’s hand. Placed it on his own cheek. Nuzzled his palm._ _

__“Show me,” John whispered._ _

__“John--”_ _

__“Show me you want me.” John found the King’s eyes with his gaze, watched another tear roll down his cheek. Witnessed every bit of him almost wilting. Waited seconds, a minute. The quiet of the room against the muffled din of the storm. Waiting and waiting. Feeling the space before the inevitable rejection, the retreat, the emptiness. The apology started on the back of his tongue, as he went to pull away, but instead he was pulled close, pulled in past the distance and the reservations._ _

__The King’s lips found his._ _

__***_ _

__The warmth of his beloved’s lips was coming home. It was the feeling of a full belly after a hearty meal. A warm, glowing, untroubled feeling, that started in Lafayette’s toes and spread through his body, swift on the blood carried through his veins. Like a spell had been lifted. John’s mouth parting, softening, allowing entry, their tongues meeting. The taste overwhelmed him with memories and emotions, made his heart swell, his blood sing. When he broke the kiss so he could gaze at him, through lowered lashes, and brush the hair behind his ear, he could forget everything. The last few months, every moment of pain and anguish and torment. His exhaustion. His confusion. The conflict in his own heart. All that mattered was that John was here, John was returned to him, John was his and his alone._ _

__“My darling,” he exhaled. Just being this close, holding him, made the rest of the world fall away. Of course they could soldier on; this was his John, the man he had loved for years, the only man he had ever gifted his heart. The man he would lay down his every possession, his Kingdom, his very life for. The tears welled in his eyes again. “My darling, I love you.”_ _

__“You say you love me.” He thumbed away yet another tear making its way down his cheek. “If you love me, your highness, then _love me_.”_ _

__John’s words, like sprouts bursting from soil. Blooms unfurling in the sun. Struck the deepest chord within him._ _

__He forgot himself._ _

__They both fell into a dizzying dance of hands and lips and tongues, their bodies slotting together in a way both familiar and fresh. Their kissing grew heated, urgent. John moaned beneath him, laid a palm flat on his chest, felt his heartbeat._ _

__“I love you,” Lafayette repeated, the sentence like a confession. “I love you, I’ve missed you, my love.”_ _

__John lifted his eyes, stared up at him._ _

__“Please,” he whispered. “Please, your majesty, please take me, I beg you--”_ _

__His voice, no longer the husky, sweet low voice from the inner chamber. The desperation crept in, and it made Lafayette’s hair stand on end._ _

__“I, John--”_ _

__“Please, sire, please!”_ _

__Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. John wasn’t right, he was different, he was ill, he was no longer himself. And no matter how their bodies stirred, how his heart and flesh and every molecule ached for his beloved, it was wrong._ _

__“John, we cannot do this, I am so sorry, you know this.”_ _

__As fast as the calm mood had settled over them, it shattered. John’s wails drowned out his apologies as he untangled their embrace._ _

__“Please, my love, forgive me--” He stumbled out of the bed, rushed out the door. Slammed the door shut behind him. Fell against it in a heap, slid to the floor, his face in his hands._ _

__Could hear John’s footsteps across the floor._ _

__Heard him sobbing. Pleading._ _

__***_ _

__As quick as he was there, the King was gone. John followed him to the door, the one he still wasn’t sure locked. He never tried the knob._ _

__A ragged scream tore his throat as he sunk to the floor against the door, crumpled into a heap._ _

__“Lafayette,” he called, the name falling on an empty hallway. “Lafayette, I need you.”_ _

__***_ _

__Through the door, John calling his name._ _

__The King curled into himself. Kept his sobs silent._ _


	18. Chapter 18

The morning after the storm broke gray and bright. Alexander woke before Eliza. She had fallen asleep curled in a ball on the settee across from the couch where he had collapsed. In his fuzzy memory, it felt as if the night before had been made to see each other in a way that seemed unreal in the morning light. Harsh. They had gone from reading to talking, until the wee morning hours. A long, in the dark conversation about their lives. 

Alexander enjoyed the easy way she laughed. The look in her eyes when she listened to him. How closely she held her small hands to her lap when confessing something painful--

He knew he had fallen asleep against her, or close to it. It filled him with a particular kind of warmth to picture her extracting herself from his loose embrace. Tucking the pillow behind his head. Tucking the quilt around his feet. 

The fire in the grate was just embers now. She had slept without a blanket, the book near her hand. As if she had tried to stay awake. It was so like her to be ready to greet him, fresh as a daisy, with the sunrise, and Alexander took a distinct pleasure in beating her at her own game He relished getting to see her like this, folded up and vulnerable. Her face relaxed. Her heart shaped mouth half open in the innocence of sleep. Her eyelashes dark fans over her cheeks. Her hair rumpled. 

To him, she had never looked more beautiful. 

He didn’t want to move, not even to stir the fire. The room had a chill and the princess had eschewed a blanket for herself, her skirts cascading down the edge of the settee like a waterfall. Alex wanted to cover her from the cold. Wrap her in softness and warmth and shield her from the draft. He feared any motion on his part would wake her, break the spell, and he no longer would get this version of her, this perfect, private version of her. To see her face unworried. Relaxed. 

If he could stay here all day, he would not think the day wasted. 

As quietly as he could, he sat up. Pulled on his boots. Tried to work out in his mind how he could get a tea service delivered with minimal disruption. He pictured having breakfast waiting, the look of surprise, then softness, as she realized that someone, for a change, was taking care of her instead of the other way around. He could watch her lips caress the china edge of a tea cup, part around a bite of a tea cake. 

How different from breakfast at the manor that would be! He swore he would never eat porridge again, could feel the thick, hot clumps of it in his throat, scalding him, as he wolfed it down, in a rush to be gone of Thomas so he could spend his morning with Theo, the one bright spot in those dark, lonely months. 

Eliza had been the first person since their rescue he had confided in about Theo. How teaching her had been, at the worst of times, a distraction, and at the best of times, a true pleasure. How he hadn’t encountered such a gifted mind in years, and her tenacity and thirst for learning. The way she approached a problem was unique and inspiring. 

“I would love to meet her,” Eliza said, and Alexander assured her that they could, maybe even today. After all, she was living in the palace, under the care of Miss Louise. He had hoped his instructions regarding her education had been honored, that she had been provided with her books on physics and politics and chemistry and biology and---

Alexander paused what he was doing. 

The idea hit him like a bolt of lightening in last night’s storm.

“Theo,” he said simply, as if the idea were a joke. It’s simplicity, and it had been there all along. 

_Theo could help them find a cure!_

“Eliza! Princess Eliza, wake up!” he leapt off the couch, bounded across the room in two and a half strides, jostled her awake. “Princess, I-- I just had an incredible idea!”

“Alexander?” she mumbled, her words still mushy from sleep. “Wh-what time is it?” 

“I don’t know, but Princess, you have to wake up. We must see Lafayette _immediately!_ ” That got her attention. She sat up, straightened her skirts. Smoothed her hair. If Alex had more time to contemplate, he would have chalked up her transformation to witchcraft, the quick and perfect way she went from rest to ready. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked. “Might I go change, I am in yesterday’s gowns and--”

“No time!” Alex said, seizing her hand, pulling her to her feet. “We have to see Lafayette.” 

With little protest, she allowed Alexander to lead her from the inner chamber.

***

“Explain this to me again,” Lafayette said slowly. Patiently. As if Alexander were a child. They had met the King in the great hall, along with Washington, Maria and Peggy. They sat at the table, their breakfast untouched. But Alexander could not sit still. They had no time. John slept now, and he had to convince them, all of them, that this was it.

He paced as he spoke.

“Theodosia Burr. She is--she is a genius, especially at the sciences. A gifted student of chemistry and botany, and she is a creative thinker, I do believe if given the opportunity she could assist in finding an antidote.”

“And how did you meet this young woman?” 

“I taught her, while at Thomas’s manor. I told you this, Laf. I have secured an academic scholarship for her at Northstar Academy, she is brilliant--”

Lafayette held up his hand. “I did not realize my brother was running a school house out of his manor,” he said coldly. Alex’s mouth tightened. He did not like the implications in Lafayette’s voice, the dismissiveness. 

“Your majesty, if I may,” Washington interrupted. “Theo is the young lady in Miss Louise’s care. Aaron Burr’s daughter.”

Lafayette sat up a bit straighter. “My brother’s servant, you mean?”

Washington nodded. 

“Well, that makes this quite simple. The answer is no, Alexander. Now, if you will excuse us, we must be checking on John.” He went to stand.

Eliza looked between them, alarmed. 

“No?” Alexander repeated. “Lafayette, what would be the harm--”

“That man, Burr? He is a criminal, and I will not have anyone connected to him or my brother in close contact with John.”

“You’re...you’re wrong.” 

Lafayette had risen to his feet, and was now glaring across the table at Alex. 

“Pardon?”

“You’re wrong, this is wrong. Theo could help, she could actually help us cure him.”

“Or, that daughter of a traitor could finish him off, either on purpose or through her own inexperience.”

“Your highness, I think under my observation, that would be difficult,” Maria chimed in, her jaw set. Peggy nodded. 

“We would be there, Laf. She’s what, 13? We will protect him.” 

“This conversation is over,” Lafayette said. 

“No, it’s not. Lafayette you must reconsider. I taught her, I know her capabilities, and her heart is kind. It would be foolish to not at least attempt.”

“This conversation is over,” Lafayette repeated. “Now, I suggest unless you would like to be sharing the same living quarters as her father, you put the idea from your mind, Alexander. Now, if you will excuse me.”

Alex watched him, along with Washington and Maria, take their leave, his mouth open in surprise. 

A hand on his shoulder. Eliza.

“Surely, Alexander, he did not mean that--”

He turned on his heel, made for the other door. The door to the stairs that led to dungeons. “I do not care if he did,” he hissed. Peggy followed them. 

“He’s stressed, this has been hard on all of us, but him especially--”

Alexander whipped around to look at her. Even with Peggy by her side, all he saw was her. The concern in her eyes. The softness there. “He knows nothing of hardship, of pain. He. Knows. Nothing.”

“You know that is not true--”

“I do not care. He is wrong. And even if he does make good on that...threat…but if John is   
cured? It will have been worth it.”

He fled down the stairs to the dungeons, both princesses at his heels. 

***

Despite his weeks in a cell, Burr looked more or less as composed and rigid as he always did. He sat on the edge of his bed, listening to Alexander’s plan. 

“The King is opposed?” 

“Yes, but we believe there is a work around.”

With his fingers tented, he looked at them through the bars. “I cannot consent to putting my daughter in harm’s way.”

“What if…” Alexander paused. Looked to Peggy and Eliza for support. “What if we could guarantee she would not be held culpable? That she would be out of the Kingdom before the King could realize her involvement?”

This got Burr’s attention. “And go where?”

“Our family would be happy to give her a place to stay until her term at Northstar begins,” Eliza chimed in. 

Burr looked between the three of them, incredulous. “You would...you would put your own safety and standing at risk for Theo? You could be hanged for treason.” 

“Mr. Burr, if I may. I do not think King Lafayette is unwise enough to persecute two visiting princesses from his greatest alliance,” Eliza pointed out. 

“Yeah, his grief hasn’t made him that dumb,” Peggy muttered. 

“And him?” Burr gestured at Alexander, who scowled. 

“I do not think--” Alexander began.

“He will have a safe place in our Kingdom as well,” Eliza interrupted. When Alexander looked at her, surprised at her boldness, he noticed the color rise in her cheeks. “If he so chooses.”

“So, help me understand this.” Burr actually stood, approached the bars. “You want my permission, to consult my teenage daughter, to help you find a cure for whatever Thomas poisoned the King’s concubine with? After the King explicitly told you not to? And, in the event of retaliation, you are willing to harbor two fugitives, my daughter and this… scoundrel, in your Kingdom?”

Alex opened his mouth to respond, but Peggy clapped in mocking applause. “Yes, cheers, exactly that. Now, will you please give us your blessing so we can actually put the plan into action?”

“Well, whatever do you need my permission for? If you are willing to go against the King…?”

“Look, Aaron. Can I call you Aaron?”

 

“No.”

Peggy ignored him, continuing. “Having been a teenage girl not that long ago, I know how stubborn we can be. And something tells me if you were...cooperative, it will help our case.”

Burr nodded, returned to his seat on his neatly made cot. “I will give my blessing under one condition.”

“We can’t free you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Alexander snapped. Burr glared at him.

“Not that. Aside from her spot at Northstar, and her care in your Kingdom…. I’d….I’d like to see her. Theo. Before she goes.” He paused, and looked away. Alexander stared at his feet, unwilling to see the sadness in Burr’s face. 

Eliza hitched up her skirts, stepped up to the bars. With the grace of a queen and the boldness of a brash soldier, she extended one arm through the bars, offering her hand to Burr to shake. “You have our word, Mr. Burr,” she said firmly. Burr looked her up and down, and with a sigh, accepted her handshake. 

“I am trusting you three with her,” he said wearily. 

***

They waited the rest of the week. Time passed as it ever did with one new development. It was unspoken, but after John went to bed, and Eliza and Alexander bid everyone else good evening, they retired together to the inner chamber. Nothing salacious or untold, of course. They would share an evening cup of tea, reading, and conversation. Alexander on the sofa, Eliza on the settee. Twice, Eliza fell asleep in the sitting room. Alexander treasured these moments, and his growing affection for her. It seemed he lived for these things: quiet time with Eliza, the alone time he had with John, and the hope in his heart that this plan would work and a cure could be found. 

Six days after the storm, five days after Lafayette denied him their request, they fetched Theo on the pretense of visiting her father. Miss Louise and Washington escorted the girl to the dungeons. Eliza and Alexander waited, gave them a good half hour of private visiting time before making their appearance. As they described the situation, from John’s current ailments to the plan to smuggle her out of the Kingdom, Theo listened in rapt attention. 

“Mr. Hamilton, this is quite a bit of information,” she exclaimed, but her eyes were lit up with excitement. “Finally, a true challenge. I accept--”

“Huzzah,” Alex said sarcastically. The evening was wearing on him. He was quite tired of waiting, wanted this all to be over, for John to be better, for Lafayette to be back to normal. 

“Under one condition.” 

“So many conditions,” he muttered, and Eliza glared at him. 

“This was all your idea, was it not?” she snipped, and it was the most impatient he had ever heard her. He quite liked it. He hid his smile.

“My father will be given a fair trial,” she said. “I do not expect him to be freed or absolved from his wrong doing, but…” She looked over her shoulder at him. “He deserves his day in court.”

Washington, who had been listening to the proceedings away from the group, chimed in here. “Miss Burr, you have my word, that your father will receive a fair trial.”

She nodded, then curtsied. “Well, then. I accept. Before you take me to the patient, however, I’d like to have a word with Mr. Madison.”

This shocked the entire group. 

“Whatever for?” Burr asked, scandalized. “That...man….was second in command. He is responsible for much of John’s torment.”

“And poisoning him?” Theo asked. 

Now they were speechless. She addressed Washington directly. “Lead me to Mr. Madison’s cell.” And when Alexander and Eliza went to follow, she glared at them. “Alone.” 

***

Theo was gone almost two hours. When Washington finally brought her to the inner chamber, where Eliza and Alexander waited, along with Peggy and Maria, they had begun to suspect the worst. 

“I had Miss Louise bring my books from my room,” she said as a way of greeting, dumping an armful of books, notebooks, and quills on the dining table. Alex took a moment to feel how odd it was to see so many people crowded in this private space, but the feeling passed when he noticed Eliza watching him across the table. “Mr. Madison was a great deal of help. I do not think you are dealing with an actual aphrodisiac.” 

“What makes you say that?” Maria asked, clearly interested. “He exhibits all of the...signs.”

“Yes and no,” Theo said. “From what I have pieced together, there is a key difference. An aphrodisiac’s effects would be lessened after mating, would it not?” 

More silence. 

“Let me answer that for you. The answer is yes. An aphrodisiac is used to arouse, but once the urge is satisfied, its effects are meaningless. What happens to John after any encounters?”

To begin with, Alexander was more than impressed with her mature handling of the subject matter. Aside from that, what she was saying made perfect sense. 

“After...he would often seem worse. He was never actually satisfied.”

“Precisely. I do not think this is an aphrodisiac. I think this poison was made to make the victim susceptible to an addiction.”

“That...that actually makes sense,” Alexander said, mulling over this information. 

“It does?” Peggy asked. 

“How did you figure it out?”

“Mr. Madison explained the process to me. The timing of the doses. The consistency of the behavior input and stimuli. It made sense when I heard it.”

Maria stood up, suddenly invigorated. “That all does make sense. John’s fits happen most after he’s been exposed to what stimulates him. I think...I think we can easily figure out the antidote then, if we are looking for anti-addictive properties. That is a whole different set of ingredients…” she trailed off, pulled a small journal from her apron, started scribbling down notes. 

“Can I see?” Theo asked, peering over her shoulder. They began talking quickly, of potion ingredients and brewing times and dosages, in a dizzying conversation Alexander was struggling to follow. Not because of his intellect, but rather the late hour. And the distracting way Eliza kept glancing at him…

“I think we can start this as early as tonight,” Maria said, her eyes shining. “If Miss Theo would be so kind as to join me?”

“I can help too,” Peggy said, beaming. “I might not be a wiz at potions, but I follow orders like a champ.”

“The King needs to be kept out of the way,” Alex added. 

“We won’t be ready for hours,” Maria said. “Not til morning, most likely. If we catch John before the King wakes…”

They all looked at each other, the weight of this secret settling on their shoulders.

“Well, chip chop, we must get started,” Eliza broke the silence. “Ladies, to Maria’s quarters? Miss Louise and General Washington can resume their normal duties, Alexander and I will sit with John and run interference with the King if needed.” Everyone nodded at her suggestions, and broke away from the group. 

This time, it was Eliza who led Alexander from the chamber by his hand. 

***

“Is this where he’s been sleeping the whole time?” Alexander whispered. Outside of John’s door, the King was fast asleep on a cot that had been hastily unfolded and clearly made by his inexperienced hand. While there was a sumptuous quilt, instead of a bed pillow he was using a decorative throw pillow and the cot lacked sheets or duvet. 

“I suppose,” Eliza whispered back. “I have been staying in the guest wing; I never witnessed him actually going to bed.”

They stood in silence, watching him sleep and breath, his makeshift bed a strange guard in front of John’s door. The sight was the first thing Lafayette had done in many days to make an impact in the growing cold spot in Alexander’s heart. But there was something touching and tender about the gesture. Quietly, they stepped around him, slipping into John’s room. 

Oddly enough, John was awake.

“Eliza? Alex?” He looked up from where he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his sketchpad in his lap. Alex caught a glimpse of his drawing, what looked like a cage, before he shut the book and shoved it away. “It’s so late, what brings you here?”

“In a few hours, we have someone that wants to see you,” Alex said. John looked alarmed.

“To take me away?” 

“No, nothing like that. We think they can heal you. They are working with Maria.” 

John nodded, but stared off into space. 

“And until then?” he whispered. 

“Until then, we wait.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for the delay. Depression is such a bitch. Thank you for reading

It wasn’t dawn. Not quite. The night had passed in a long, fuzzy blur. Conversations held in hushed voices. Eliza read at one point. Alex tossed a ball of string for Hope to chase. John lay in bed, looking pale and frightened. Alex longed to see what he had been drawing, but was afraid to ask.

The light outside the window was thickening, the night growing less gray. An hour til sunrise. 

They didn’t knock. Peggy opened the door quietly, poked her face in the room. “We’re almost ready,” she whispered. The exhaustion was evident in her eyes and face, and her dress had several potion stains on it. “Maria and Theo are bottling the potions now.” She slipped inside, the door shut softly. “They made several, there are a few strength levels…” When she yawned, she covered her mouth. 

“Your fingernails are green, dear sister,” Eliza observed. She also sounded sleepy, but as cheerful as ever. Alex both admired her and envied her for it. For the last hour he had been silent, afraid his tired mood would alter his tone, set John on edge.

“They had me stripping the leaves of some awful plant, needed tons of it.” Peggy yawned again. “Smelled like wet stockings.”

“Just as well…” Eliza hitched a weary smile. “Do you think they’ve done it?”

“I do. Maria was...sparkling with excitement. She and Theo are an excellent team, they were practically speaking another language. It was...invigorating. I think they actually cracked it.” She came to join Eliza on the edge of the bed, grinned at John. “Are you ready to be back to normal, Jack?” 

Refusing to meet her eyes, John stared at his hands. Shrugged. 

“He’s just tired,” Eliza filled in. 

“Yeah. Him and me both.”

When Maria and Theo finally did arrive, it was with little fanfare. They had a tray of vials, the potions inside varying hues of green: emerald, olive, grass. 

“So nice to finally meet you, Mr. John,” Theo curtsied. 

“Why so many?” John whispered, eyeing the potions. Maria had a dropper, was adding the tiniest amounts of the potions into separate glass bowls. 

“We don’t exactly know which one is the right dosage,” she explained. “Luckily, our own bodies are often the best judge of these things.” She held one of the bowls, with its splash of jade potion, under his nose. “Tell me which one smells best.”

She had him sniff all combinations, before narrowing it down to two. Peggy had been right; watching the two women work, with their jargon-littered conversations, their connection more intuitive than spoken, was its own magic, and Alex couldn’t even hide how impressed he was. 

_This had to work._

“It will,” Eliza responded, reached across the quilt, took his hand. 

He hadn’t even realized he had spoke out loud.

***

Maria and Theo and Peggy and Alex and Eliza had come to him in the night. It felt like a half dream, one you left unfinished then returned to after falling back asleep. They talked, but John couldn’t remember what anyone said. Maria had him smell bowls of green liquid. One smelled like rain. Another was grass. One was minty, one spicy, one fresh as autumn leaves. He chose two, one that smelled of bright apples, pressed in the orchard. The other had a warm, tea like smell. Out of all of them, the only two he could stomach. 

The girl named Theo mixed them, stirred them with a glass pipette until the color was a bright chartreuse. “Drink up,” she said, and offered him the glass. 

It was like the whole room was holding its breath. John wasn’t sure why. Even if the cure worked, and freed him from his...desires, inside he was fundamentally broken. The darkness lived in him. It was an ugly, hungry thing, a dark hole in his very core. He was meant for one task: to give pleasure to better men, and while a cure might tamp down that hunger, it wouldn’t fix the darkness. How could the King ever want to touch him? How could Alexander bare to be with him? How could anyone ever love someone as twisted as him. He had been born a burden. No potion could erase what had happened to him, and if John knew men like the King, like Alexander, and their refined tastes, they would never agree to lay with a dirty, used thing like him.

Before he could drink his potion, the door opened, breaking the spell of silence over the room. 

Lafayette stood in the doorway. He was in his sleeping clothes, no crown, his hair a tangled mess. He took in the scene around John’s bed, the number of people in the room at the early hour. In quick succession, Maria plucked the glass out of his hands and Alex stood 

“Lafayette, we can explain.” It was Eliza that broke the silence. Her voice was calm. All while Maria and Peggy moved in tandem, as if their skirts could shield Theo from retribution. 

The King held up his hand, shook his head. “There is no need,” he said softly. “I should have known. Alexander, you have never been one to give up on an idea.” 

“May we continue?” Maria asked, but Peggy cut in. 

“He will not stop us,” she said assuredly, her voice steady. Her hand was on her scabbard. 

“I do not wish to,” Lafayette sighed. He came to John’s side, took his hand. Looked sadly around the room. 

John only looked at him. 

“I am afraid,” the King whispered to him, looked at him, watched him, stood near him. It didn’t matter. 

John was not afraid. He felt nothing. He was empty, save for the darkness. 

“Please, your highness.” Theo’s voice, brave and clear as a bell. “Trust us. There is nothing to fear.” 

Lafayette nodded. His unspoken permission. Not needed, but accepted. 

Maria offered him the glass. 

He drank. 

***

Alexander wished he could say that John fell into a deep slumber, and awoke like a prince from an enchanted sleep more vibrant and beautiful and healthy than before. That everyone lived happily ever after, and he and the King forgave each other, and everything was right in the world 

It did not work that way. 

John emptied the glass. He set it on the nightstand. He looked around the room. 

He asked to be alone. 

***

As it turned out, John did sleep. Fitful, sweat-soaked hours full of nightmares. Maria likened it to a poison being sapped from his veins, the pain of withdrawal. To everyone else, it looked like a fever. Theo paced the room, fearful she had made some mistake; reviewed her notes with an obsessive eye.. Maria assured her. Peggy assured Maria. Eliza reassured everyone.

Alexander and Lafayette kept watch of John on either side of the bed. They did not speak to one another. 

They watched John sleep.

***

John cracked one eye open. Early morning. Late evening. Either way, the light was golden. The room was cold and quiet. 

The next thing he noticed was how he felt: at first, lighter. Clearer. The ever present pain in his groin wasn’t just muted; it was completely gone. He no longer felt that awful, itching, constant need: to want touch, to desire sex, then to deny it and have to talk inside his head. The steady stream of holding his beasts at bay. 

He looked around the room, which was full of people silently watching him. 

He burst into tears. 

There was instant activity. Talking to each other. To him. Questions. Did it work? How did he feel? Was he better? 

Better.

He cried and cried, curled up into a ball back under his blanket. 

Cried until he slept again. 

***  
Clear the room. Yes, even you, your majesty. This is my patient, and I need space to work. I feel he is overwhelmed, this is a delicate situation. Outside the door, if you please. Yes, thank you. John? John. Can you hear me? It’s morning. I have some questions. I want to examine you if that’s all right. When you’re ready, sit up. How does your head feel? I’m going to take your heart rate now. And your temperature. All of that is normal; no more fever is an excellent sign. Are you hungry? Thirsty? And is there any pain?

John didn’t know how to answer her question.

***

A bath again.

They actually left him alone.

He was surprised at that. That they trusted him. He supposed there was nothing sharp. No way to hurt himself. Not that they would know the thoughts in his head. Not the desire to hurt himself, per say. But the desire to blink out of existence. To be no longer. To erase himself from the world. He did not possess the energy to lift the blade to his throat, to tighten the noose around his neck, to fill his pockets with stones and walk into the river. Everything was too bright. They asked him too many questions. Was he hungry? Thirsty? Did he want to take a walk, go for a ride on the grounds, see the snow, read a book? Normal, mundane, beautiful things he could not even picture himself near. 

No, thank you. 

All he wanted was a bath. 

And to be left alone. 

These baths were larger than even those in the inner chamber. A whole room of marble. Water flowed from the faucet shaped like lions’ heads. He floated on his back, stared at the snow blurred skylight. 

Alone in his head, he realized he missed the beast in his brain. His constant companion. It was something to hate, something to fight. And now that it had been defeated, he felt empty. 

Lathering his own skin proved challenging. The thought of hands, even his own, on his body filled him with disgust. After several nauseating attempts of scrubbing himself, he elected to stand under one of the taps, let the water wash over him. 

Thomas’s voice. In his ear. Hole. Whore. Empty. Filthy. What good are you, you don’t even want a dick up your ass any more? Worthless. Why are you here, in this palace, this Kingdom, this world. You are nothing. 

The bath was deep enough to dunk his whole head under water. He submerged himself. Eyes closed. Held his breath. One. Two. Three. Four. 

How long could he count? Could he just stay here?

His head broke the surface. 

He drew in a breath.

***

At first, Alexander tried to talk Lafayette out of it, but he lost that battle. Especially when Lafayette’s enthusiasm was palpable. Contagious. 

One of the smaller, private dining rooms was set. Lafayette oversaw the preparations himself, darting between the kitchens to taste the food as it was prepared, to the room to see the decor coming together. His mood oscillated between enthusiastic optimism to restrained panic. 

“Everything must be perfect!” he declared. Alex just sat in the chair, watched them work. 

The table was set for three. Gold cutlery, new china in a gorgeous pattern of lavender and thistle. Peonies in vases on every surface. Candlelight. A silk, embroidered tablecloth in deep plum. Wine, just a single bottle. 

Lafayette had dressed carefully for the occasion, in gray and lavender velvet. He tried to get Alexander to do the same, but he opted for one of his more comfortable outfits, weary before the night was even underway. He managed to talk Lafayette out of a harpist to accompany their meal, citing John’s delicate mood and need to be alone. 

“Of course, Alexander. Thank you, your input has been invaluable.” And he kissed him on each cheek. The tone was formal, but warm, and Alexander felt his mood softening. 

When Miss Louise finally escorted John to supper, Lafayette looked like he might vibrate out of his skin from excitement. 

“Come, my darling, come.” He guided John by the hand, sat him at the head of the table. John’s gaze darted around the room. He looked like a cornered animal, sighted by the hunter. Lafayette pulled out the chair, offered him the seat. John paused, stared at the setting. The table. The chair. 

Looked over at Alexander, who forced a smile. “Evening, Jack,” he said brightly. Hoped his breezy tone would set him at ease. 

Tight-lipped and pale, John stared at his plate. And instead of sitting down, promptly sunk into a kneeling position on the floor. 

As swift as John fell to his knees, Lafayette’s face fell as well. He tried to get John to stand, telling him it was alright and that he was safe, the chair was for him, supper was ready and wasn’t he hungry?

“I can’t,” John whispered, staring at his folded hands in his lap. “I’m sorry.” 

Lafayette looked at Alexander pleadingly, who also attempted to coax John to the chair, with no success. Short of hoisting him bodily to his feet, he saw no option. The panic on the King’s face was enough to make him worry, so he did what he thought he could. 

Rang the bell. Called for a servant, who in turn, fetched Eliza. 

Alexander met her at the door. “Help.” Hoped she could read the worry on his face. “Please.”

Puzzled, Eliza stepped into the room. She surveyed the scene. The sumptuous set table. The flowers and the candles. John on his knees. Lafayette on the verge of tears.

Instead of scolding or fussing, Eliza did something Alex could not have expected. 

She giggled. 

Threw a few directions out to the servants, watched them work. Before too long, gone was the table, and the chairs. The purple table cloth laid on the floor like a picnic blanket. Eliza gathered her skirts in one hand, gracefully sat down on the floor across from John’s spot. Smiled beatifically up at Lafayette and Alexander, who both watched her dumbfounded. 

“Are you joining us for supper or not, your majesty? Alex?”

Alex sat on the floor too, watched as Lafayette forced a smile. Sat to John’s left. He put on a mask of good cheer, praised Eliza for her novel idea. The three of them laughed, while John stared at the floor. A picnic indoors, how charming!

Somehow, they made it through that first dinner. When John refused to eat at first, Eliza prompted Lafayette to feed him from his fork. And Alex watched that too, partly jealous, partly worried. The sight of such a handsome man dressed in such royal colors feeding John from a golden fork was almost too much to bare, but bare it they did. 

John, at least, ate every bite.


	20. Chapter 20

After that disastrous first dinner, Lafayette learned a few things. He tempered his expectations. John could not just transform overnight into the man he was before his captivity. By the third day after taking the cure, he still was listless, quiet, distracted, morose. He struggled to leave the hospital room in the tower. Not only was his mood low, but the idea of traversing the palace unfettered overwhelmed him. 

The first real smile Lafayette managed to coax out of him came on that third day, when he escorted John to the inner chamber after lunch. The snow had stopped and the sun was shining.

“Oh. Oh, Lafayette, did you do this?” 

John broke away from their looped arms, rushed out into the garden. Over the pond, a small gazebo had been erected to shield them from the elements, to replace the board John had been using. A miniature chiminea puffed merrily next to the pond. Chester sat on a rock near the heat source, basking in the glow of the coals. The garden was tidy, clear of snow and leaves and debris.John knelt near the pond, examined the pile of vegetables Lafayette had worked so hard to prepare that morning. 

“You’ve been doing this?” he repeated, looking up at the King, squinting in the sunlight. 

“Of course. I have grown quite fond of them. They are excellent company. It took some practice, but I believe I have mastered their food, and designing the gazebo, of course, took a while but I thought they might appreciate--” 

He was cut short by John leaping into his arms, hugging him around the neck. 

“Thank you. You took--you took such good care of them, and I’m...I was worried… Thank you!”

For a moment it felt like before. Time fell away. John was in his arms, beaming up at him, his eyes sparkling. He felt warm and snug. His voice free from strain. A split second, and his eyes drifted shut, his lips parted. As if he were to swoop in and kiss Lafayette, show his gratitude, his care, his appreciation. 

In that moment, he made his decision. 

Lafayette stayed him with his hand. 

“You are welcome, my dear,” he said, but even to himself his voice sounded false. John’s face fell from having been rebuked. Seeing the hurt in his eyes, in every line in his face, nearly split Lafayette’s heart in two, but he could not.

He couldn’t be like him. Was John kissing him out of true love and devotion, or because he had been trained? Was he in love or simply conditioned? Was every kiss, every caress, under duress? Or a transaction? 

The King no longer knew. 

“Come,” he said. “You are shivering. Let us get you warm, in front of the fire.”

***

The King read over the scroll he had been delivered. A letter from Miss Louise. He tried to read every word, take it all in. She was, after all, following _his_ orders. Instead his vision almost blurred as he scanned the lines quickly. _Preparations made...As early as next week...You know my opinions on the matter… Isolated, but safe…_

He picked up the quill. Began his reply.

***

If being King had taught Lafayette one thing, it was the power of standing by your own decisions. Once his mind was made up, he found it best to stay the course. Washington, Eliza, and even a strongly worded letter from Angelica all tried to talk him out of it, but he knew what was best. That this would be the most pure act of love he could think of.

Sometimes, for a field to flower, one must burn away the brush. 

***

Midnight. The King, still awake. By the fire, a book in his lap. He was not reading. He was alone, staring at the page. 

“I thought you might still be awake.” 

He looked up. Peggy, a bottle of brandy in one hand, a pair of cut crystal glasses in the other. 

“Might I join you?”

The King nodded, and Peggy pulled up a chair. Poured them each a generous helping of the brandy. 

“Are you here to talk me out of it?” Lafayette asked, smiling sadly around the rim of his glass. 

Peggy shrugged. “No. I don’t think you can be talked out of anything.” She sipped her drink. “I do hope you might be able to tell me why.”

Lafayette turned his glass in his hand, watched the fire light play on the amber liquid. “I believe it is what is best. For everyone.”

“Even John?”

“Especially John.” He set the glass down. Looked at his boots. “No one else can know what it is like. To be near him, the one person you love--” HIs voice cracked, but he held steady. “The one person you love best, and see the pain your very presence brings him.”

“So instead of time, of patience, this is your solution?” 

Lafayette nodded. 

“You aren’t your brother, you know,” she continued conversationally. “You might look alike, but you aren’t him.”

“This I know,” Lafayette sighed. “But in some ways, we are the same.” 

They drank in silence, and when Peggy stood to leave, Lafayette felt he needed to say more, to help her understand what had led him to these conclusions, that he was not trying to be noble or selfless, but make the best decision for John and Alexander. 

“I do not deserve him.” He couldn’t bare to meet her eyes. Peggy was never one for theatrics or emotional outbursts, and he hoped out of all of their circle, she would understand his intentions best. 

“Finally. Something we can agree on.” She curtsied, and bid him goodnight. 

***

When the day came, Lafayette did not have the courage to face them. He stood in the window of the tower, watched the servants load the wagons with their trunks. Miss Louise had already gone ahead, had the cottage furnished and stocked with supplies. 

“They will want for nothing,” he had ordered. Stipulated. They would be safe. They would be far away from this palace. From him. 

John and Alexander escorted out the front door. Washington and Eliza with them, along with a small guard. John wrapped in white furs, the basket that contained Hope in his arms. Alex in a dark green cloak, the hood pulled up over his head. They had been spared snow, but the frigid cold gave the air a bite. 

His last glimpse of John. White on white on white: snow, fur, pale skin not quite regained its healthy glow. The wind whipped his curls. 

He stepped into the waiting carriage. 

Eliza next, with help from Alexander. His arm, unneeded, but still welcome. 

Before he followed her, he paused. Looked up at the tower. 

Lafayette knew that with the angle, the tint of the glass, there was no way Alexander could witness his spying. But even with this, he still felt the weight of his gaze and all it meant. 

He climbed up into the carriage. Shut the door. 

Lafayette stood in the window, watched the procession climb up the hill and away from the grounds: the carriage, two wagons, surrounded by the guard, all led by Washington on horseback. 

He watched until they disappeared over the second hill, out of his line of sight. 

He watched until the snow began to fall, covering their tracks, erasing their journey. 

He watched until the entire world around him was blinding, blurring white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming on this journey with me. I am working on the next PGT fic but I have part 6 (and 7 and 8) outlined. I love all of you! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Look me up on Tumblr @likearootlesstree
> 
> I love comments I love kudos I love my readers THANK YOU SO MUCH


End file.
